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DOMINIC. 




FRANZ HOFMANN 

'' r 




Jrom tl|e German, 

BY 

Miss REBECCA H. SCHIVELY. 

» 


Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go : 
Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know. 




\ 


70 


V k 

PHILADELPHIA : 


LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

42 North Ninth Street. 

1870. 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the 


LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, . 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States in and 
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 




Westcott & Thomson, 
StereotyPers, Philada. 


Caxton Press of 

Sherman & Co., Philadelphia 


CONTENTS 


I. 

PAGE 

THE TRAVELERS 9 

II. 

THE JOURNEY AND THE RECEPTION 49 

III. 

HERR KUMMERLEIN 88 

IV. 

OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER 108 

V. 

KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD 134 

VI. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 168 

7 


8 


CONTENTS 


VII. 

PAGE 

THE MOfTO 202 

VIII. 

0 

A FOX TRAP 227 


I 



DOMINIC. 


I. 

THE TRAVELERS. 

a certain day early in the month of 
August, a traveling-carriage, heavily 
laden with trunks and boxes and drawn by 
four post-horses, toiled slowly up an ascent, 
over which the road led into the mountain 
district. The carriage door was ornamented 
with a handsomely painted baronial coat-of- 
arms, and the curtain was drawn back so far 
as to afford a good view of the occupants of 
the conveyance. A gentleman, a lady and a 
little girl some thirteen or fourteen years of 




lO 


DOMINIC. 


age leaned back upon the soft cushions. The 
gentleman — a tall, fine-looking personage, 
about forty years old, with a very dignified 
and attractive countenance, nut-brown eyes 
and a heavy but well-kept beard — was atten- 
tively scanning the country, rich in woods 
and meadows, through which they were 
passing, and at every particularly beautiful 
point in the landscape he called the attention 
of his two companions, that they might enjoy 
the view with him. These occasions became 
more and more frequent as they ascended the 
height. Now it was a castle, whose white 
walls glimmered in the distance; now the 
silvery thread of a little stream wandering 
downward into the plain behind them ; now 
some rough, steep rock standing erect in 
threatening grandeur; now a deep, shady 
ravine, suddenly opening at the side of the 
road, and again some especially beautiful and 
picturesque group of trees that arrested his 


THE TRAVELERS. 


II 


attention ; and each new beauty was pointed 
out with a few words that expressed his 
earnest admiration of Nature’s loveliness. 
His companions lent their willing attention 
to his suggestions, their eyes sparkling with 
increasing delight as, rising higher and 
higher among the mountains, the prospect 
widened before them. 

“ How very, very beautiful it is here, dear 
father !” exclaimed the young girl as a turn 
in the winding road opened to them a full 
view of a lovely valley, with its woods and 
fields and a pretty stream bordered by alders — 
'‘far more beautiful than I expected! Our 
level country at home can boast of so little 
variety that I did not know there were such 
charming spots in the world. How I thank 
you for bringing rne with you to these de- 
lightful mountains !” 

Her father smiled at his little daughter’s 
enthusiasm, and her mother, a pretty but 


12 


DOMINIC. 


delicate-looking lady, afifectionately stroked 
the girl’s rosy cheek. 

“ I am glad, my dear child, that the beauty 
of Nature makes so deep an impression upon 
you,” answered Baron Brandenstein ; “ and as 
we have an infinite variety of charming 
scenery before us, I promise you many such 
pleasant surprises.” 

But surely nothing can be more beautiful 
than what is here before us !” said the young 
girl, with a wondering glance at her father. 

“Wait a few minutes,” said her father, 
smiling rather mysteriously. “ Driver, will 
we not soon be at the top of the hill ?” 

His inquiry was addressed to the postilion, 
who was walking near his horses and urging 
them now and then by his voice to a quicker 
pace. He turned when the baron spoke to 
him, and nodded pleasantly. 

“Yes, your grace,” he replied. “As soon 
as we turn the corner of the wood yonder. 


THE TRAVELERS. 


13 


the whole valley and the lake will lie just 
before us, and then we will go trotting, pres- 
to ! down to the village. In ten minutes I 
will take your grace down this mountain that 
we are climbing at such a snail’s pace.” 

We are in no hurry, postilion,” returned 
the baron. Let your horses rest a little 
while up there, and then go down leisurely 
and carefully. I remember that the descent 
to the village is rather steep.” 

Yes, that is so, but the horses are used to 
it, your grace,” replied the postilion. ‘^You 
need not be anxious. I always drive care- 
fully.” 

'Wery well — cautiously and slowly too, 
for there are very many fine views of the 
valley from this road, and we should like to 
enjoy them at our leisure. You under- 
stand ?” 

‘"Yes, yes, your grace,” the postilion 

said, bowing, "I know; all the ladies and 
2 


14 


DOMINIC. 


gentlemen like it here. Only look now ! 
We are at the top ; here is a most splendid 
view.” 

The traveling-carriage had indeed reached 
the top of the hill, and but a few paces farther 
brought them in sight of a charming land- 
scape, which called forth exclamations of de- 
light not only from the lively child, but even 
from the gentle and quiet mother. A fine 
valley, a full league in width, encircled by 
majestic mountains, whose bald peaks rose 
proudly toward the sky, lay bathed in 
sunlight before them. A large lake, whose 
deep, clear waters rivaled the serene blue of 
the sky, glanced and sparkled like a gigantic 
polished mirror, bordered by its emerald-hued 
woods and meadow-lands. Here and there, 
half hidden by the broad foliage of nut trees, 
a little hamlet, with its church spire and dark 
slated roofs, rose from the green level of the 
valley; a handsome villa, built on a little 


THE TRAVELERS. 


15 


peninsula which stretched its graceful out- 
lines into the waters of the lake, was mirrored 
from the waves ; little pleasure-boats floated 
from shore to shore with white sails spread, like 
silver-winged gulls; and just below our trav- 
elers was the village, with its streets and its 
gardens planted with lindens, its wharf, 
where the larger market-vessels lay among 
smaller craft, and a stately castle, with towers 
and battlements gray with age, which, being 
built on a headland, appeared enthroned 
above town, lake and shore. An extended 
tract of land projected from the castle far out 
into the water. Some fishermen’s huts were 
scattered here and there upon it, and a foot- 
path wound between picturesque pleasure- 
grounds to its farthest extremity, where rose 
a slender, gracefully-proportioned lighthouse. 

It formed indeed a magnificent picture, this 
valley, with its lake, its mountains and its 
fresh verdure, which for many minutes kept 


i6 


DOMINIC. 


the sparkling eyes of our travelers fixed upon 
it in wonder and admiration. 

“ Oh, father, dear father, do let us stay at 
least an hour or two in this delightful place ! ” 
entreated the little girl at last, interrupting 
the silence. It would be so pleasant to take 
a walk on the charming banks of that lake. 
Let us stop in the village and pass the even- 
ing by the lake.” 

I anticipated your wish, my dear Emma,” 
returned her father, “ so I have already made 
the necessary arrangements. That castle 
belongs to a friend of mine ; and although 
he is absent, its doors will be opened to us as 
soon as the castellan knows my name ; he is 
already prepared to receive us.” 

“Delightful!” exclaimed Emma, clapping 
her hands gayly. “ What an evening we shall 
have 1 What a pleasure it must be to look 
from those Gothic windows upon the lake 
and its beautiful shores !” 


THE TRAVELERS. 


17 


** I shall enjoy it very much myself, I as- 
sure you,” said the baron. '‘We will not, 
then, linger here any longer. Drive on, pos- 
tilion, but, as I told you, carefully and not 
too fast.” 

“As your grace desires,” returned the man. 
“ Do not be at all uneasy ; I and my nags 
know this mountain very well.” 

He sprang on his saddle-horse, cracked his 
whip, and the horses began to descend the 
mountain at an easy pace. At every turn of 
the winding road Emma discovered new 
beauties in the landscape, and slow as was 
their descent, it was far too rapid for her. 
Two or three times she begged that the car- 
riage might stop at some particularly attrac- 
tive point. But at last they found themselves 
rolling through the streets of the village, and 
in a few minutes passing through the high- 
arched portal of the castle. On giving his 

name, Baron Brandenstein was received by 
2 * B 


i8 


DOMINIC. 


the castellan in the most courteous manner. 
Emma tripped lightly up the broad stone 
steps which led to the main rooms of the 
castle, and the next moment was standing at 
one of the high-pointed windows, from which 
she could look far out over the lake. 

“ How beautiful ! how enchanting ! ” she 
cried, while tears of delight rose to her eyes, 
and her young heart overflowed with love 
and reverence for the Lord whose lavish 
hand had displayed such wonders of beauty 
in this little corner of the earth. 

Hours passed away, yet the young girl was 
never weary of gazing, of wondering, of ad- 
miring. A walk in the fine gardens of the 
castle, through the arched openings of whose 
wall she could see many beautiful points in 
the landscape, and from the gardens along 
the tongue of land at the extremity of which 
stood the lighthouse, raised her enthusiasm 
to such a height as she had never before ex- 


perienced in her life. It seemed to her that 
she loved the whole world, and could have 
called every one to admire with her the spot 
that filled her with such pure joy. 

“What a pretty saying!” she suddenly ex- 
claimed, stopping in her walk before one of 
the fishing-huts mentioned above. “ Look, 
dear mother, on the board over the door.” 

Her mother read. The words were these : 

Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go : 

Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know.” 

“A beautiful and expressive saying in- 
deed,” remarked the mother. “ Remember 
it, Emma — ^write it down ; it will be a pleas- 
ant memento of the delightful day we have 
passed, and of this lovely scene.” 

While Emma took her tablets from her 
pocket to write the lines on them, the mother 
went slowly on to join her husband, who was 
leaning against the wall of the lighthouse, 
apparently absorbed in contemplation. Emma 


20 


DOMINIC. 


was about to follow her mother when it oc- 
curred to her to make a sketch of the neat 
little cottage, and she went around it in order 
to choose the most favorable point of view. 
This was soon done, and with a few rapid 
touches she transferred the outlines of the 
cottage and the surrounding foliage to a leaf 
of her tablets. Thinking it quite time to re- 
join her parents, she then quietly put her 
sketch into her pocket and hastened along 
the path ; but now her steps were arrested by. 
an unexpected incident. Just on the shore 
of the lake, under the shady foliage of an 
elder bush, a boy, was sitting who w^s per^ 
haps a year or two older than herself, and 
very poorly clothed. Clustering brown ring- 
lets hung down on both sides of his attrac- 
tive but very pale face to his shoulders. 
Deep in thought and seemingly very sad, he 
did not observe Emma’s approach. His head 
rested on his hand, and he was gazing across 


THE TRAVELERS. 


21 


the water with an abstracted air, while a few 
large tears coursed slowly from beneath his 
dark eye-lashes over his thin, wasted cheeks. 

Emma felt drawn by an inexpressible sym- 
pathy toward the poor boy, who appeared so 
oppressed by sadness in the midst of the 
bright loveliness of Nature. Her ever good 
and kindly heart was to-day, under the holy 
influence of God’s beautiful works, more than 
usually alive to the distresses of others, and, 
led by a sudden impulse, she went close to 
the boy, and laying her hand lightly on his 
shoulder, asked him in a gentle voice : 

“Why are you weeping here where the 
Lord has made so many beautiful things ?” 

The boy looked up with his great brown 
eyes into the little girl’s sweet face with- 
out appearing startled or surprised, while the 
tears still hung from their lashes like pearly 
dew. 

“ I weep because my dear, dear mother 


22 


DOMINIC. 


was buried to-day,” he answered, in a sad, 
subdued voice. “ If the world is ever so 
beautiful, what is it to me ? I am all alone 
in it, for my mother is gone ! ” 

“ Poor boy ! ” cried Emma, her heart throb- 
ing anew with sympathy. “ Indeed, I know 
now why you are so distressed. It must be 
a sad grief indeed to lose one’s mother. But 
have you no father, nor any other relation ?” 

“ I have no one to care for me,” replied 
the boy, shaking his head. “Who should 
take any trouble for such a one as I am ? 
People are so hard upon the poor, and I am 
very, very poor. I have not even a place to 
live in for a single night.” 

“ But you must have some room, if it is 
ever so small, and a bed to sleep in, have 
you not ?” cried Emma, astonished and 
grieved. 

“Oh no!” returned the boy. “They al- 
lowed me to stay in our little cottage only 


THE TRAVELERS. 23 

until my mother was buried. When I came 
back from the church-yard I found it closed, 
and the owner drove me away. I had to 
leave my home.” 

But did your mother leave you nothing — 
not a bed, nor a table, nor a chair ?” 

“ There was very little left when she died, 
and what there was I could not have. The 
landlord said my mother owed him a quar- 
ter’s rent, and that, as I could not pay him, 
he would keep the furniture. Indeed, it is 
not worth very much ; but if he would only 
let me have some little thing that had been 
my poor mother’s, if only her scissors or 
her pin-cushion ! But no ! he drove me off 
with hard, angry words, so I came and hid 
myself among the bushes.” 

Poor boy, poor, poor boy !” said Emma, 
and she could scarcely keep from shedding 
tears with him. “ It is very sad ! But what 
will you do now ?” 


24 


DOMINIC. 


“ I do not know,” said the boy, hopelessly, 
but very quietly. “ I think God may have 
pity on me, and let me also die soon. Then 
all will be well. I can go to heaven and be 
with my dear, good mother again. If it did 
not seem so far off!” 

Emma looked very sorrowfully at the poor 
boy, so young, yet so weary of life. 

“ God will not let you die yet. He will 
help you, and send you good friends to take 
care of you,” she said. 

” No one thinks of poor Dominic I” re- 
turned the boy, despondently. 

“Why, yes, I am thinking of you now,” 
replied Emma, quickly. “And God will 
make other hearts feel for you, just as he 
has mine. He is good, and there are many 
good people in the world. Do believe that I” 

The boy shook his head again. “Who 
has been kind to us — to my poor mother 
and me ?” he murmured. “ She worked, she 


THE TRAVELERS. 


25 


sewed and knit, day and night, and the peo- 
ple she worked for did not pay her enough 
to live on. Then when she was sick no one 
asked after her. And who will think of me ?” 

“ I will do something for you, Dominic,” 
said Emma, warmly. “Only wait here a 
little while. You shall have your little room 
back and all that belonged to your mother. 
YeSy you shall, you may be sure! How 
much money did your mother owe ?” 

“ Ten florins I ten whole florins 1” answered 
the boy, gloomily. “ Where should I get so 
much money ?” 

“ Wait, and you shall have it soon,” said 
Emma, and hurried away, eager to aid the 
poor boy. She remembered her savings-box 
at home, and that she had in it a considera- 
ble sum of money in gold-pieces which her 
parents and aunts and uncles had given her 
on her birth-days and at Christmas. 

“ I must have more than ten, twenty, thirty 

s 


26 


DOMINIC. 


florins,” she repeated as she ran toward the 
lighthouse. “ I do not need the money, but 
poor Dominic does, and I will give it to him. 
He shall have it all, the poor fellow ! for no 
one does anything for him, and father and 
mother give me everything I want. No, in- 
deed, I do not need it ; he shall have it all !” 

Her cheeks glowed with excitement and 
with her rapid motion as she approached the 
lighthouse. 

Mother dear, how much have I in my 
savings-box ?” she cried, throwing her arms 
around her mother. “ Please tell me quickly.” 

“ But, child, how does it happen that you 
are thinking of your savings-box just here?” 
asked the baroness, in surprise. 

Do not ask me, dearest mother,” said 
Emma, imploringly. “ Only tell me, have I 
as much as twenty or thirty florins ?” 

''Yes, yes; rather more, perhaps,” replied 
her mother, exchanging an astonished look 


THE TRAVELERS. 2/ 

with her husband. But tell me now why 
you asked this question here and now ?” 

^^Sorne other time, dear mother, please!” 
answered Emma, quickly. “ I am only so 
glad that I have so much. Dear father, will 
you not give me the money? I need it; 
please, please give it to me I” 

“Thirty florins, Emma? Do you know 
that is a great deal of money?” 

“ Oh, but not too much, indeed. Only do, 
do give it to me, dearest father I” 

“Not until I know for what purpose, 
Emma.” 

The young girl cast down her eyes. The 
proverb of the fishing-cottage, which had 
pleased her so much, the pretty saying: 

“ Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go, 
Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know. ” 

had never been out of her thoughts since her 
conversation with Dominic ; and with her de- 
sire to help the poor boy her heart rose up 


28 


DOMINIC. 


against the appearance of vanity and ostenta- 
tion. No, the good deed should be a secret 
between herself and Dominic. She felt that 
it was a good deed to bring help and comfort 
to the suffering boy, but she was resolved 
that that consciousness and his surprise and 
pleasure should be all of her reward. 

“ ‘ The fish may not see, but the Lord will 
know,’ ” she said to herself, and raised her 
beseeching eyes again to her father’s face. 

“Dear, dear father, do not ask me!” she 
said again, glancing at her mother as though 
to appeal to her for aid. “ I do not mean 
to do anything wrong or useless with the 
money, and indeed I shall be very much dis- 
tressed if you will not give it to me.” 

“ Do give it to the child, my dear hus- 
band,” said the mother. “Emma will cer- 
tainly tell us afterward how she has used it. 
I am certain’ she will not make any foolish 
use of the money.” 


THE TRAVELERS. 29 

“Thank you, thank you, dear mother,” 
Emma said, with a joyful, beaming face. 

The baron, moved by the entreaty of his 
wife, took out his purse and gave the happy 
child thirty florins. Swift as a young deer 
she ran away, and directly after she stood, 
glowing with pleasure, by the boy’s side. 

“ Dominic,” she said, throwing the bright 
gold-pieces into his lap, “ do you not see now 
that God is willing and able to send help to 
the poor? Take this; it is thirty florins. 
You can pay your debt now, and still have 
something left. Yes, yes, only take it; it is 
all yours — I give it to you.” 

Dominic looked at the gold, bewildered 
and surprised, then at the young girl, while 
he turned pale and then blushed. His kind 
benefactress seemed to him like an angel sent 
from heaven by the Lord to comfort him, 
and raise up his bowed spirit with her tender 
hand. And indeed the child’s countenance 


3* 


30 


DOMINIC. 


was almost angelic as she stood before him, 
her bright eyes and pure brow so expressive 
of tender pity, her rosy lips parted with so 
gentle a smile. 

“ It cannot be true !’’ he at last stammered 
out. “ Surely you must be only joking with 
me. 

“Do I look as if I could make sport of 
distress?” answered Emma. “No, no; the 
money is yours, and you must keep it. I 
have taken it from my own savings-box, and 
have liberty to give it as I please. Go, now, 
to your landlord, pay him, and get your dear 
mother’s room again for yourself. Good-bye, 
Dominic.” 

With these words she nodded kindly to 
him, and hastened away again as quickly as 
she had come. Quite unexpectedly, she met 
her parents near the fisherman’s cottage, and 
was received by them with smiles. The 
father had followed her and observed his 


THE TRAVELERS. 3I 

child’s benevolence with silent delight. The 
mother pressed her tenderly to her heart, and 
stroked her crimsoned cheek. But not other- 
wise did they betray, by word or sign, that 
they were aware of Emma’s good action. 

Dominic, meanwhile, remained for a short 
time gazing with stupefied astonishment at 
the gold-pieces that shone in his hand, and 
that were to end for the present his anxieties. 
Directly he remembered that, in his surprise 
and confusion, he had forgotten to thank the 
friendly little girl for her rich gift ; and then, 
quick as an arrow from a bow, he sprang up 
and ran through the bushes after her. He 
could have thrown himself down at her feet, 
kissed the hem of her garment, and poured 
out abundant thanks. But on emerging from 
the bushes he suddenly paused and stood 
hesitating. He saw the little girl in her pa- 
rent’s arms, and timidity held him back. He 
could not venture to approach them, nor 


32 


DOMINIC. 


could he decide to slip away again ; so he re- 
mained where he was, hidden from them by 
the low foliage, until after a few minutes they 
slowly resumed their walk. 

During these few minutes the boy's atten- 
tion was fixed upon Emma. The pretty, 
amiable features stamped themselves indeli- 
bly upon his memory. 

“Never, never can I forget her!” he mur- 
mured. “So long as I live I will pray for 
her every day.” 

As the travelers went forward he slowly 
followed them. On reaching the spot where 
he had seen them standing, something shining 
in the grass caught his eye, and he picked it 
up. It proved to be a gold brooch, and 
Dominic remembered that he had seen it in 
Emma’s dress. Its form had attracted his 
attention. It was that of a dove, beautifully 
engraved, and with ruby eyes. His first idea 
was to run after them and return the pin to 


THE TRAVELERS. 33 

Emma. But then he again hesitated to in- 
trude on her parents, and at last resolved to 
watch his opportunity and restore it to her 
privately. Most likely, he thought, she 
would miss it, and turn back to look for it, 
and that would afford him an opportunity to 
express his thanks for her kindness. 

But Emma did not miss the pin, nor turn 
back, nor even look around. Dominic fol- 
lowed and followed, until the travelers turned 
to go back to the castle. Knowing that they 
would pass him on their way, he retreated 
farther among the bushes lest they should 
see him. From his hiding-place he heard 
Emma say as they passed : 

‘'What lovely water-plants! Only look, 
mother dear! What a pity that they are so 
far from the shore we cannot reach them. I 
should have liked some of those pretty 
flowers as a memento of this delightful 
day.’» 


0 


34 


DOMINIC. 


Dominic’s heart beat fast ; he had learned 
one wish of his kind little friend. 

“ She shall have the flowers — a large bunch 
of them,” he said to himself, and followed the 
party again until they entered the castle. 
Outside its entrance he stood and waited. It 
was now dark, and he had no doubt that he 
should soon see lights in the castle. His 
plan was soon laid, and was not difficult to 
carry out. He had scarcely waited five min- 
utes when a light shone through a window 
near him, and he recognized the figures in 
the room. He had learned all he desired. 
He hurried back to the lake, sought the place 
where the finest flowers grew, threw off his 
clothes and swam to the spot. After pluck- 
ing his hands full of them he brought them 
to land, tied them together with a tough 
blade of long grass, dressed himself again, 
and went back to the castle. 

The garden was standing open, and he 


THE TRAVELERS. 


35 


slipped in. As he traversed it he plucked a 
leaf from a camellia bush, into which he 
fastened the gold pin, and put it at the top of 
his bunch of water-flowers, so that it would 
be easily seen, and then cautiously ap- 
proached the window from which the light 
was shining. An agreeable surprise awaited 
him — just the opportunity he wanted. Emma 
was standing in the recess of the window 
looking out into the beautiful night, while 
her parents were still sitting at the table 
at their evening meal. The window was 
not very high, and wild vines climbed up 
around and above it. Quickly and nimbly 
Dominic clambered up, and showed his pleas- 
ant face, glowing with excited feeling, so sud- 
denly at the window-pane that Emma drew 
back, almost alarmed. A second glance, 
however, showed her that it was the boy she 
had befriended, and she opened the window 
and leaned out. 


36 


DOMINIC. 


Softly, softly, dear, kind young lady,” 
whispered Dominic to her. “You wanted 
some water-lilies; here is a great, large 
bunch of them, and here is your pin, too, 
that you lost on the bank. And thank you, 
my very best, heartiest thanks, for the great 
kindness you have shown to a poor boy. 
Never will I forget you, and to the end of 
my life I will pray for you, good, kind 
friend !” 

With pleased surprise, Emma received the 
beautiful bouquet, the proof of Dominic’s 
gratitude. But when she would have thanked 
him for it, he had already slipped down 
among the vines and disappeared, nor could 
she see him at all in the garden. 

“ Good-night !” she heard in another mo- 
ment from the lake shore, and then all was 
still — nothing, save the gentle plashing of the 
waves, broke the deep repose of the night. 

“ What are you doing, Emma, at the open 


THE TRAVELERS. 3/ 

window?” asked her father. You will cer- 
tainly take cold ; the night air is very keen 
in these mountains and valleys. Close the 
window at once.” 

Emma obeyed, and came to the table where 
her parents were sitting. They immediately 
noticed with surprise the flowers she held. 

“ What have you there, my child ?” asked 
her mother. “What a beautiful bouquet! 
Who bought it to you ?” 

“ A water-nixie from the lake, was it not ?” 
said her father, laughingly. “ But what is 
that shining among the flowers ? A golden 
trinket, indeed I Why, you are a fortunate 
child, Emma, I find. Let us see.” 

“ It is nothing — nothing new, dear father,” 
answered Emma, confused and blushing, 
“ only my breastpin, that I lost on the bank.” 

“And did your water-sprite bring you 
that, too,” her father asked, “ with a whole 
bush of the finest water-flowers ? It is really 


4 


38 


DOMINIC. 


marvelous ; indeed, my curiosity is so much 
excited that I think I must find out something- 
more about this.” 

Emma cast an imploring look upon her 
mother. 

Come, confess, my child,” the mother re- 
plied to her silent appeal, with a smile. We 
know already of your new acquaintance, so 
you can speak freely to us. We must tell 
you that we watched you. You need not 
blush so deeply, Emma. Your father and I 
are not only not displeased with your kind 
action, but we heartily rejoice at it. Only 
tell us now how you happened to meet with 
the boy.” 

Emma hesitated. It was still hard for her 
to raise the veil in which she would gladly 
have concealed her little mystery for ever. 
But her father now added, seriously : 

“ Tell us, my child. We do not ask you 
out of idle curiosity, but because I wish to 


THE TRAVELERS. 


39 


do something more for the boy than you 
could. We have enjoyed this day very much, 
and out of gratitude to God, who has added 
it to our lives, and as a memento of its pure 
pleasures, I will try to carry out your good 
work, always provided that the boy shall 
prove worthy. Now that you understand 
me, I hope you will no longer try to conceal 
anything from me. Together we will do good, 
and then, in the name of our Saviour, let it 
go into the deep. * The fish may not see, but 
the Lord will know.’ ” 

Emma’s scruples thus removed, she re- 
peated word for word what Dominic had 
told her, and how she had aided him. As 
to the flowers and the brooch, she could 
say nothing, for she was as much sur- 
prised as her parents by the boy’s sudden 
appearance. 

“ I can guess how that happened,” said her 
father. Dominic must have followed us and 


40 


DOMINIC. 


found the pin, and overheard your wish for 
the flowers ; then, after finding out our room 
here, he brought the bouquet and the pin in 
token of his thankfulness to you, my dear 
child. I see that the boy has a heart, and 
this confirms my intention of helping him. 
But still, I will first make some inquiries of 
the castellan about him.” 

The castellan came and gave a favorable 
account of the youth. He knew him well, as 
an orderly and industrious boy, and also 
praised the departed mother quite warmly. 

She was a good woman,” he said ; she 
worked day and night to earn an honest 
living, and brought her son up in obedience 
and in the fear of God.” 

“ But what is to become of the boy, since 
she is dead and there is no one to take care 
of him ?” 

The castellan shrugged his shoulders. 
*‘This is a poor place,” he replied; “the 


THE TRAVELERS. 4I 

young fellow will have to make his own way 
in the world.” 

"‘Well, my good friend, I thank you for 
your information,” said the baron. “ One re- 
quest — please send for the boy as early as 
five o’clock to-morrow morning. I have a few 
words to say to him. You know where he 
can be found ?” 

“ Certainly, certainly, your grace,” said the 
castellan. “ I will go myself and deliver your 
message to Dominic. If you mean to do the 
poor boy a kindness, I can assure you it will 
not be thrown away.” 

“ I do not know yet ; I must first see him 
and speak with him,” said the baron, with 
some reserve in his manner. “ Be sure that 
he comes.” 

The castellan bowed. “Does your grace 
desire anything more this evening ?” 

“ Nothing, my friend. I wish you a good- 
night.” 


42 


DOMINIC. 


The castellan left the apartment, and the 
baron sat for a few moments absorbed in 
thought. 

“ That will do,” at length he murmured. 

Emma was rather curious to know what 
would do, but her father would talk no more 
y of his plans that evening. 

“To-morrow, my child, to-morrow,” he 
said, when Emma timidly ventured to ques- 
tion him. “ For to-night it is time that we 
should go to rest, as it is rather late, and to- 
morrow we must rise with the sun.” 

So they retired, but it was long before 
Emma could sleep, so curious was she to 
know her father’s intentions concerning 
Dominic. 

On the next morning, punctually at five, 
Dominic stood in the baron’s ante-chamber, 
not a little puzzled as to how he might be 
received by that gentleman. At last he made 
up his mind that he must expect a reproof. 


THE TRAVELERS. 


43 


either for accepting so much money from his 
young benefactress or for his boldness in 
coming to their window so late in the even- 
ing, and his heart beat quick when, after 
waiting a few minutes, he was called into the 
baron’s room. Here he found not only the 
baron himself, but his wife and the kind little 
girl, and the friendly smiles with which all 
received the boy reassured him. 

“ Come here, Dominic — nearer !” said the 
baron. “Why did you disturb us so late 
yesterday evening ?” 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon, gracious sir,’^ re- 
plied the boy, raising his pretty brown eyes 
with a pleading look toward his interrogator ; 
“ I did not mean any harm — I only wanted 
to show the dear young lady there, who 
helped me like an angel in my great trouble, 
a little thankfulness for her kindness. I did 
not dare to come into the castle, and as I 
heard the young lady wish for the water- 


44 DOMINIC. 

lilies, and I had found the pin, and she was 
standing so near the window, I took the 
liberty of climbing up there. Indeed, I 
meant no harm.” 

“Yes, yes, I believe you,” replied the 
baron, kindly, looking with a pleased ex- 
pression at the boy. “ I see how it was. 
You appear good and clever, Dominic, and 
you have a grateful heart. This decides me 
to make you an offer. On my estate, which 
is about sixty miles from here, my gardener 
needs an assistant. If you would like it, you 
shall have the place, and I will supply you 
with all you need until you have learned 
enough to take care of yourself and can do 
without further assistance. Tell me if you 
like my proposal ?” 

The boy’s eyes sparkled, and it was easy to 
be seen that he could scarcely refrain from 
giving loud expression to his delight. 

“Yes, indeed, your grace. I will go, with 


THE TRAVELERS. 45 

all my heart. It is a great pleasure that you 
are offering me.” 

And you will be faithful and diligent ?” 

^‘Yes, sir, that I will! I shall surely al- 
ways remember how kind you are to me,” 
replied Dominic, his eyes filling with tears. 

“ Well, then, it is settled,” said the baron. 
“ My journey will last about four weeks 
longer, and then I expect to return home. 
In four weeks, then, do you come to me. 
On this card is my name, my address and a 
direction as to the road you must take. Are 
you not afraid of the distance ?” 

“No, sir; what should I fear? God is 
everywhere, wherever the blue sky is.” 

“ And leaving home — ^will that not be hard 
for you ?” 

The boy bowed his head. “ Yes — to leave 
my mother’s grave,” he answered, in a low 
tone. “ But I will gather a little flower from 
it, and take it for a keepsake. Yes, it will go 


46 


DOMINIC. 


hard to leave her grave ! But I cannot al- 
ways stay here, and I feel that my mother’s 
spirit will go with me. If she could still 
speak to me, I know she would say, ‘ Go, 
Dominic, and be thankful for the blessing the 
Lord has sent you !’ ” 

“Well, then, I will expect you, my boy, 
and your place will be ready when you come,” 
said the baron. “ In four weeks ; until then, 
may God help you !” 

Dominic kissed the hand of the kind gen- 
tleman, and would have done the same to the 
baroness and Emma; the latter, however, 
would not permit it, but kindly pressed his 
hand as he extended it. 

“God be with you, dear boy, and bring 
you safe to us,” said the baroness. “You 
will be welcome.” 

And Emma added, softly, “Do you see 
now that what I told you yesterday is true, 
though you had so little faith ? God is good, 


THE TRAVELERS. 4/ 

and there are many people in the world who 
have pity on the poor and unhappy. Good- 
bye, Dominic, and be comforted. If it is not 
quite as pretty at our home as it is here, I 
hope you will still be happy there.” 

“ It must surely be beautiful wherever you 
are, dear, kind young lady !” answered Dom- 
inic, sincerely, as he turned away. 

Half an hour later the baron’s carriage 
rolled out through the arched gateway be- 
fore the castle. A fresh and beautiful bunch 
of flowers was thrown in at the carriage 
window. 

“Ah, see, mother, it is Dominic’s parting 
salutation!” said Emma. “He is surely a 
good boy.” 

She looked out and saw Dominic standing 
by the gateway, waving his hat. She re- 
turned the greeting with her handkerchief, 
and then the carriage turned a corner which 
hid the grateful boy from her eyes. 


48 


DOMINIC. 


“ The good, kind, thankful fellow !” she 
said ; I am glad I have seen him again.” 

Just then the carriage passed near the fish- 
ing-cottage. 

“ Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go : 

Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know.” 

She whispered the proverb over to herself, 
and looked out with smiling eyes upon the 
beautiful world that lay stretched out before 
her in the light of the morning sun. 




II. 


THE JOURNEY AND THE RECEPTION 



OUR weeks after the departure of the 


Baron von Brandenstein, Dominic made 
up his bundle in order to set out on his long 
journey to his new home. Early in the 
morning he took up his walking-stick and 
left the village. His way led past the church- 
yard, and although he had visited his mother’s 
grave the evening before, yet he could not 
go on without stopping once more, it might 
be for the last time, to pray on the little hil- 
lock that covered all that had been dear to 
him on earth. He sought the grave and 
knelt down. 

“Sleep quietly and sweetly, darling moth- 
5 D 49 



50 DOMINIC. 

er ! ” he whispered with quivering lips, as he 
rose from his knees after a few moments of 
silent devotion. “ I must leave thee ; but 
though I may go far away, I shall ever think 
of thee with a loving heart. Sleep sweetly, 
mother, and if happy spirits above can bless 
poor children on earth, give me thy bless- 
ing to aid me on my way. Farewell, dear 
mother ! ” 

Again he bent over the beloved grave, 
plucked a flower from it, which he laid near 
his heart; a quiet tear fell upon the spot, 
and then he turned away. His eyes were still 
moist as he passed through the church-yard 
gate; but pressing his hand on his heart, 
where the little blossom from his mother’s 
quiet resting-place lay hidden, he strove to 
feel more cheerful, and to dissipate the clouds 
of parting by such hopeful visions of the 
future as his lively fancy could conjure up. 

He was happy in the thought of finding a 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 51 

new home among good people, and a field of 
active labor, where, by his industry and faith- 
fulness, he could show his gratitude to his 
kind friends. Emma’s pleasant face rose be- 
fore him, a picture of heavenly beauty and 
love, and only to live near the dear little girl 
seemed a very great happiness. 

Arrived at the top of the hill, from which 
he could cast one more look upon the beau- 
tiful valley, his native home, he turned and 
stopped. His eye rested long upon the little 
town, the blue lake and the lofty mountains, 
but longest of all upon the quiet church-yard, 
whose white crosses he could readily distin- 
guish through the clear air and by the radi- 
ant light of the September sun. Two or 
three times he threw back kisses, and at last, 
saying, half aloud, “ Sleep softly, rest sweetly, 
my own darling mother ! ” he tore himself 
from the scene and followed the road, which 
now descended into another valley. His home 


52 


DOMINIC. 


had disappeared behind him ; a new, unknown 
world, a new life, a new dwelling-place lay- 
before him. Yet Dominic had no fears for 
the future ; by that loved grave he had vowed 
to keep his Saviour and the precious memory 
of his mother before him all his life, never to 
consent to sin nor to act contrary to the holy 
commandments of the Lord. This gave him 
strength, courage and happiness, and so he 
brushed away the last tear-drops from his 
eyes and went on his way with a peaceful 
heart. If God was with him, and the bless- 
ing of his mother, and the good-will of all 
good people, what more could he need ? 

Dominic had an extensive tract of country 
to cross before he could reach the home of 
the Baron Brandenstein. Raised among high 
mountains, he looked with wondering eyes on 
the level plain where no rock, not even a hill, 
rose upon the horizon to offer a resting-place 
for the sight. He saw nothing but endless 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 53 

stubble-fields, over which the wind passed 
with a rustling sound, amid green meadows, 
tracts of woodland, rivers, small streams and 
brooks, whose course he could follow with 
his eye for a great distance, and scattered 
towns and villages, whose high church-spires 
rose above the monotonous landscape. 

Yet he was well pleased with what he saw; 
for the fields displayed fertility, the towns and 
villages comfort, wealth and abundance. In 
his own home it was beautiful — oh yes, far 
more beautiful than here — but the high, bar- 
ren rocks- afforded their dwellers no such 
riches as this dark soil, from which men gath- 
ered nourishing grains and fruits in plentiful 
yearly harvests. 

On and on he went, coming gradually from 
the broad plain into a hilly country with soft 
green slopes and vales, not, indeed, magnifi- 
cent, like the mountains and valleys at home, 

yet still cheerful and pretty, until at last, after 
6 * 


54 


DOMINIC. 


a pilgrimage of nearly sixteen days, he saw 
before him the towers of a castle which a man 
whom he met on the road told him was that 
of the Baron von Brandenstein. His heart 
throbbed with joy, and he looked with admir- 
ing eyes upon the castle and its surroundings. 

High and stately the great building rose 
before him; the sun’s light glistened upon 
the windows and upon the gilt balls of the 
two round towers at each side of the great 
front of the castle, with its flight of stone 
steps. There was a large folding gate open- 
ing to the right and to the left, and around 
the castle lay a well-ordered garden and park, 
with summer-houses, fish-ponds and green 
lawns, surrounded by fine old beach, oak and 
linden trees. Tame fawns and sprightly colts 
were gamboling over the green sward; the 
old turrets were overgrown with ivy, which 
had climbed to their very tops and spread its 
evergreen foliage nearly over the windows 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 55 

of the main building, quite surrounding the 
large, Gothic-arched windows in the centre. 
At some distance from the castle lay the farm- 
buildings, a pretty tenant-house surrounded 
by stables and barns, and long rows of glass 
houses, in which was a considerable vegetable 
garden. Dominic observed these with par- 
ticular interest, as they, he expected, would 
be the principal scene of his labors. 

To no purpose, however, did he look about 
the castle for its inmates. 

All was lonely and silent there, although 
among the farm-buildings there were plenty 
of people all busily enough engaged. On 
closer inspection of the castle, he found that 
its windows were closed from within, and in 
vain did his eyes wander from one to another 
to discover the face of his little benefactress, 
so indelibly impressed upon his memory. He 
saw her nowhere, and concluded that he must 
go to the castle door and look for her within 


56 DOMINIC. 

her house, to let her know of his safe arrival 
after his long journey on foot. 

Full of joyful hope, he hastened forward 
In a few minutes he reached the castle, ran 
up the steps, tried to open the door and found 
it locked. 

“ There must be another entrance,” he 
thought. 

He found indeed another door, but neither 
did this yield to his pressure. 

“ It is strange,” he said to himself “ Where 
can they be ?” 

He went entirely around the castle, look- 
ing everywhere, but in vain, for signs of life 
within. It lay as though deserted, still as 
death. 

What are you looking for here, boy ?” a 
voice behind him at last inquired. 

He turned and saw a laborer with a spade 
and pick-axe, who had approached him from 
the park. 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 5/ 

“ Is not this the castle of Herr Baron von 
Brandenstein ?” he asked. 

Yes, certainly it is.” 

“ And where is the Herr Baron ? Where 
will I find him?” 

“You will have to -go far enough to find 
him,” replied the laborer, laughing. “ His 
grace is in Vienna, where the Frau Baroness 
is lying ill, and I am told he will not come 
home until next spring. At least so the 
steward says, and he had a letter from the 
baron two or three days ago.” 

Dominic stood as if thunderstruck at this 
sad and unexpected news. He had felt so 
much pleasure at the thought of seeing his 
kind friends again, and now they were far 
away, and it might be months before they 
would return. 

“ And is not the young lady here, either ?” 
he asked, in a low tone. 

“Why, certainly not,” returned the man. 


58 


DOMINIC. 


Where should Fraulein Emma be but with 
her father and mother ? That is a matter of 
course.” 

Dominic assented sadly, and could scarcely 
repress the hot tears of disappointment that 
sprang to his eyes. 

“ All gone !” he murmured. What is to 
become of me ?” 

The laborer, who was a good-natured man, 
noticed the poor boy’s downcast looks. 

“ And what do you want with his grace ?” 
he asked, compassionately. “You appear to 
have come from a distance, for your speech 
is not like ours in this part of the country.” 

“ What do I want, did you ask ? I wanted 
to stay here. The Herr Baron told me to 
come, and promised me that I should work 
in his gardens,” replied Dominic, hardly able 
to control his tears. “And now I have been 
sixteen days on the road, only to find no one 
at home !” 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 59 

“ Well, now, don’t be distressed,” said the 
workman, kindly. “ Even if the master is not 
here, perhaps he has written something about 
you. Ask the steward or the gardener. If 
it is as you say, one or the other of them 
must be expecting you. Come with me ; I 
will take you to them.” 

Dominic followed gladly, for it seemed 
possible, and indeed very probable, that the 
baron might have written about him, since 
he himself expected to be so long absent from 
home. He went to the tenant-house near 
the farm-buildings, and was taken into the 
presence of the steward. 

Here’s a curious story, Herr Steward,” 
said Dominic’s conductor. “ This boy is ask- 
ing for the Herr Baron, who, he says, told 
him to come here ; he will tell you what he 
wants.” 

Dominic in substantially the same words 
repeated his story, which was listened to by 


6o 


DOMINIC. 


the steward in silence, but with many a dubi- 
ous shake of the head. 

All nonsense !” he said, at last. His 
grace has not written a syllable of this to any 
of us, so it cannot possibly be true. Look 
here, sir ! you are a loitering, idle fellow, and 
you want to get in here among us to make 
an easy living.” 

Dominic asserted the truth of his story 
with so much candor and so open and honest 
a countenance that the steward’s decision 
was a little shaken. 

** Hm ! it is enough like him, the kind 
Herr Baron,” he said to himself. “Wait a 
few minutes ; I will look over the letter again 
and see if he can have mentioned you.” 

He went into his own room, but returned 
after a while, shaking his head, as before. 

“Nothing of it — nothing at all,” he said. 
“ There is not a word about you in the letter. 
You can go, boy; we do not need you here.” 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 6l 

“But, Herr Steward,” interposed the la- 
borer, taking pity on poor Dominic, who 
stood overwhelmed with confusion and dis- 
tress, “ perhaps the gardener may know that 
the boy is to come to him. Do ask him.” 

“ No use ! It is all a make-believe ; I 
know that,” replied the steward. “ Still, we 
can ask him. Call him here, Peter.” 

Peter went and brought the gardener, 
but neither did he know anything of the 
matter. 

“ It is too late, at any rate,” said he. “ I 
took a boy eight days ago, and sent the Herr 
Baron word of it. I certainly have no need 
of two.” 

“ There, Peter, you hear,” said the steward. 
“ Nothing but a made-up story. Take your- 
self off, boy! The baron knows as little of 
you as we do. There is the gate; march 
off!” 

Dominic lingered an instant, for it seemed 
6 


62 


DOMINIC. 


very hard to leave this spot, which he had 
begun to look upon as his home. But a 
rough gesture from the steward, accompanied 
by a harsh word, decided him at last to make 
no further effort. 

Very well, I will go,” he answered, half 
defiantly, half sorrowfully ; but, Herr Stew- 
ard, you will remember me and you will have 
reason to be sorry for your harshness.” 

So saying, he walked away. Somewhat 
struck by his last words, the steward looked 
after him. 

“ If his story be true, after all !” he said to 
himself, thoughtfully; but then added, in a 
vexed tone, “ No, it was all lying and deceit, 
and the miserable fellow wants to threaten 
me. Don’t dare to come back here !” 

Dominic, meanwhile, rapidly crossed the 
courtyard and went past the castle into the 
park, at the farther side of which he found a 
beautiful large pond, with swans swimming 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 63 

upon it. There was a boat by the edge of 
this pond, and on the opposite side the boy 
saw the gray line of a path. Without delay 
he sprang into the boat and crossed the little 
sheet of water; then he went and hid in a 
thick growth of bushes. Here, far from those 
who had so coldly turned him away, he sat 
down for the first time to give vent to his 
wounded feelings and disappointed hopes. 
At first the poor boy wept bitterly, and after- 
ward, with his head resting sadly upon his 
hand, he thought and tried to plan. 

What should he do ? Wait until the baron 
should return ? That would not do, for the 
laborer had told him that could not be until 
the coming spring. Turn and go home 
again ? This would not do either, for he had 
spent the last kreuzer he possessed in coming 
here, and traveling costs money — even the 
most economical journey on foot. And then, 
what could he do at home ? There was no 


64 % DOMINIC. 

one there who felt any interest in him. No, 
it was not to be thought of. 

But what then ? — what then ? 

Dominic thought and thought, but could 
not form any good plan. “ If only the baron 
were here!” he sighed. “All would be right 
then, for he would certainly not drive me 
away like that rough steward. But he has 
forgotten me ; I do not wonder, though, for 
his wife is so ill. And he can do nothing for 
her, nor can the dear young lady either; I 
know how it was with me when my mother 
was ill. I never thought of anything else, 
and it must be so with these kind friends of 
mine. They cannot help my troubles, and I 
am sure I do not reproach them. If I only 
knew what to do 1” 

Yes, indeed, if he had but known all, the 
poor boy 1 

For, while he was lying so full of pain and 
care among the bushes, came a post-rider 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 6 $ 

from the city to the castle, and delivered two 
letters, one to the steward, the other to the 
gardener. On opening his, the gardener 
hurried to the steward, and both stood quite 
confounded, looking their surprise at each 
other. 

“A pretty business this is of ours!” said 
the steward, at last, half aloud. “ His grace 
recommends the boy, so to speak, to my 
heart, and the young lady says, besides, that 
we must not let him want for anything!” 

“And the Herr Baron writes to me,” said 
the gardener, in the same earnest tone, “ that 
I was very hasty in engaging an assistant, 
and that, on pain of his displeasure, room 
must positively be made for Dominic.” 

“ Well, this is a fine pickle to be in !” the 
steward continued, in an upbraiding manner ; 
“ and it is all your fault, gardener, for if you 
had not engaged that other fellow on your 

own responsibility, things would have gone 
6 * E 


66 


DOMINIC. 


very differently. I thought the boy spoke 
the truth, he looked up so openly; I could 
not believe he was lying. And now he is 
gone, and the baron, dear me ! how he will 
go on about it !” 

“ What do you think, steward ?” said the 
gardener, “ had we not better try to find the 
boy again ? If we succeed, there will be no 
more trouble about it.” 

“ And if we don't succeed ?” 

“What? Why, then, when the master 
comes, we will say that the boy has not 
been here!” said the gardener. “Who can 
prove to the contrary ?” 

“ Nonsense 1 it won’t do,” growled the 
steward ; “ you know Peter was by ; suppose 
he should let it out ?” 

“Pshaw! that is not likely, and at all 
events we can stop his mouth with a piece of 
money,” said the gardener, who was prepared 
for anything. “And, after all, perhaps we 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 6/ 

may find the boy ; who knows ? He cannot 
have gone very far.” 

“ Good ! let us hunt him up,” replied the 
steward, and immediately sent out two or 
three riders in different directions to inquire 
and to search for Dominic. This they did 
faithfully, but they all came back at evening, 
saying that they could find no trace of the boy. 

“ How vexatious !” lamented the steward. 

What’s to be done now ?” 

“ Nothing but to deny that we have seen 
the fellow at all,” returned the gardener, de- 
cidedly. “ I do not care to lose a good place 
on account of a stray youngster.” 

“ Nor I, either,” returned the steward, anx- 
iously. ‘"The Herr Baron is rather quick 
sometimes, and one does not know — In 
short, gardener, we will hold to it that the 
boy has not been here.” 

'' He has not been here, and that’s enough,” 
said the gardener, and both the men dis- 


68 


DOMINIC. 


missed the unpleasant subject from their 
thoughts. There was no more talk of the 
boy on the estate. 

But what had become of Dominic? He 
lay among the bushes without a suspicion 
that they were searching for him as for a lost 
jewel. Nobody thought of that little thicket; 
the steward, as well as the gardener, supposed 
Dominic to be already far off, no one knew 
how far; and to him, poor boy! so roughly 
driven away, the idea would certainly never 
have occurred of returning to the scene of his 
mortification. So there he remained for two 
long hours, until at last the sun sank low in 
the heavens, casting a mellow radiance among 
the autumnal foliage of the trees and shrubs 
around him. Dominic began to feel chilly, 
for the evening was cool. He rose from the 
ground to seek some shelter for the night, 
not wishing, if he could help it, to sleep 
in the open air. He came out from the 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 69 

bushes to the road and looked around. All 
was hushed in the repose of evening. At the 
distance of perhaps a league the spires of a 
town rose above the plain. Dominic set out 
in that direction, walking as fast as possible, 
in order to reach the place before it should be 
quite dark. 

He might have gone about halfway to the 
town when he heard the rattle of a carriage 
behind him, and turning, saw a span of horses 
advancing at a wild gallop along the dusty 
road. The horses had evidently run away, 
and the driver was trying in vain to control 
them. Before Dominic could decide whether 
to avoid the foaming horses or to try to stop 
them, they had passed him, leaving him in 
the midst of a cloud of dust, and were flying 
along the road before him. In another in- 
stant he heard a great crash, and springing 
forward he saw the carriage lying overturned 
on the road. The furious animals dragged it 


70 DOMINIC. 

a short distance, and then stood still, snort- 
ing wildly. 

The driver had fallen from the box, and 
the reins, which he had dropped, were trailing 
on the ground. Dominic snatched them up 
and wound them around the trunk of a tree 
by the roadside. Having thus secured the 
horses, he turned to the carriage and lent his 
aid to a gentleman who had been trying in 
vain to open the door. 

“Thanks,” said the gentleman, quickly. 
“ If you will have the goodness now to help 
us set the carriage up, I shall be much obliged 
to you.” 

Dominic did this most willingly; the driver 
also now came up, and the light carriage was 
easily placed on its wheels again. Finding 
that it had not been at all injured, the stranger 
sprang into it, and the horses, now completely 
subdued, readily obeyed the driver’s hand. 

“Go on,” said the gentleman to his ser- 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 71 

vant. “Up!” cried the driver; a piece of 
gold flew into Dominic’s cap. “ Good-bye 1 ” 
the gentleman called out to him, and carriage 
and horses hurried away at a rapid rate. 

All had passed so quickly that Dominic 
might have thought the whole scene only a 
dream, if it had not been for the gold-piece 
in his cap. He put it into his pocket, saying 
to himself, 

“A whole thaler I that must be a rich man, 
to pay so freely for such a small service. But 
I had almost rather he had taken me to the 
town with him in his carriage. Why did 
I not ask him ? Well, it serves me right that 
I have to go on foot ! ” 

It was already twilight, and Dominic saw 
that he had no time to lose. He started once 
more, but in a moment slackened his pace 
and stooped. In the middle of the road, 
covered with dust, lay a pocket-book of red 
morocco, scarcely distinguishable by the fast- 


72 DOMINIC. 

fading light. Dominic took it up and found 
it nearly full of different kinds of papers. 

^‘The gentleman must have dropped this 
while we were setting up the carriage/' 
thought he. “ Perhaps I can give it back to 
him.” 

With this thought he set out to run after 
the carriage, but was soon convinced that he 
was spending breath and strength for nothing. 
For a little while only he heard the trampling 
of the horses and the sound of the rolling 
wheels, but in a few minutes all was silent, 
and the carriage had disappeared in the fast- 
gathering darkness. 

“It is useless to try,” thought the boy. 
“ If he misses the pocket-book he will most 
likely turn back to look for it, and if not, I 
shall no doubt meet him in the town. At all 
events, I need not run after hin].” 

So he walked on more slowly, still hoping 
to reach the town in half an hour. Soon, 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 73 

however, he found himself in a new and unex- 
pected difficulty. The road branched off in 
two directions, and he did not know whether 
to go to the right or to the left. After a short 
deliberation he decided to take the road which 
appeared to be most traveled. 

It was now entirely dark — so dark that he 
could see but a few steps before him ; and be- 
sides, the sky was covered with black clouds, 
from which a cold rain was beginning to fall. 
Not a star was visible, and it soon became 
difficult to keep the road at all. Not discour- 
aged, however, poor Dominic kept on, hoping 
that some light from the town might soon 
appear that should serve to guide him in the 
right direction. But a considerable time 
having passed — Dominic thought more than 
an hour — he began to wonder when he should 
reach the town. 

“ It is very strange ! ” he soliloquized. I 

thought it could not be far off, and yet there 
7 


74 


DOMINIC. 


is nothing to be seen through this darkness. 
Perhaps I am mistaken about the time, it 
always seems so long on a strange road. 
Well, I can only go on. I shall reach the 
town at last.” 

He went on and on, but at each step his 
progress became more and more difficult. 
The rain made the road soft and slippery, and 
Dominic not unfrequently wandered entirely 
away from it, sometimes falling into a ditch, 
sometimes stumbling into a stubble-field, out 
of which it was very difficult for him to find 
his way. Sometimes he was even obliged to 
feel with his hands for the wagon-tracks, in 
order to make sure that he was on a traveled 
road. If he could have found any shelter, if 
only a sheep-pen, a tree, a grain-shed in the 
open field, he would have crept into it and 
been glad of so much protection against the 
cheerless night ; but nothing of the kind 
could be found, and so he was forced to go 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 75 

on, as to lie down on the miry ground was 
not to be thought of. 

At length he became convinced that he 
must have taken the wrong road, as other- 
wise he would certainly have long since 
reached the town, having walked very fast for 
at least two or three hours. The poor boy 
was almost in despair, and with good reason. 
Ready to sink with fatigue, wet to the skin, 
wandering near midnight in an unknown 
country, his situation was indeed most 
pitiable. 

But as Dominic saw very clearly that weep- 
ing and lamenting would be of no avail, he 
summoned up all the courage and fortitude 
he possessed and prepared himself to walk on 
as long as his feet would carry him ; perhaps 
then he might find some little spot where he 
could lie down; or he might even reach a 
village, where he could knock at some one’s 
door, or take refuge in a shed. Strange as 


76 


DOMINIC. 


the country was to him, he had discovered 
that it was rather thickly peopled, and this 
gave him hope. 

After a few moments’ rest on a stone by the 
roadside, he rose and pressed on through the 
darkness, using his eyes as best he could to 
discover some friendly object on the way. 
But a half hour passed without any sign of 
improvement in his situation. Dominic felt 
his courage and his strength failing together, 
and was trying to decide whether he had not 
best creep into a hole in the ground and there 
await the break of day, when suddenly he 
heard the barking of a dog and immediately 
after a slight noise, like the cracking of a 
whip. He almost shouted for joy, and the 
glad hope that some human being was near 
him poured new life into his enfeebled limbs. 
He listened a moment to assure himself of 
the direction of the sounds, and then ran 
along the road as fast as possible toward the 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. jy 

spot whence they seemed to proceed. In 
truth, he approached what he sought. The 
barking sounded louder and louder, and now 
he heard the rattling of the wheels also. 
There must be a carriage then ! 

It is true, he would rather have found a 
village ; but no matter, if only some one 
was near and he had some shelter from the 
rain. 

He redoubled his speed, and must have 
been not more than a hundred paces from the 
vehicle, when it suddenly stopped ; the bark- 
ing of the dog changed to a loud, piteous 
howl, and a wild, confused sound of voices 
filled the air. 

Help ! help ! ” he heard. Robbers ! mur- 
der ! help ! ” 

Dominic was so frightened that his blood 
seemed frozen in his veins. But the next in- 
stant, throwing off his terror, he rushed to- 
ward the wagon, the form of which he could 
7 * 


yS DOMINIC. 

but dimly distinguish through the darkness, 
crying out as loudly as possible, 

Here ! here ! come this way ! There the 
rascals are ; seize them ! Holloa, there they 
are, men ! ” 

At the same moment he picked up a stone 
from the road, threw it at hazard, but so suc- 
cessfully as to strike and wound one of three 
or four rogues who had surrounded the 
wagon, bent on robbery. The fellow uttered 
a loud cry, stumbled and fell to the ground. 
Dominic’s bold outcry alarmed the others ; 
the driver, recovering his presence of mind, 
laid about him with the butt end of his heavy 
whip ; then Dominic snatched up another 
stone, and mixed himself up in the fight with- 
out much regard to his own safety, until after 
a short struggle, the robbers, finding them- 
selves so vigorously opposed, and ignorant, 
by reason of the darkness, of the injuries 
each of them might have received, also of 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 79 

the small number with which they were con- 
tending, dispersed and fled across the fields. 

It was too dark to pursue them, nor did the 
driver of the wagon show any disposition to 
do so. He first put his harness in order, and 
then called back his dog, which was running 
after the robbers, barking loudly. At last he 
addressed Dominic. 

“ Get in beside me, my man,” he said to 
him. “ It is not very pleasant walking on 
this road, and though I do not think those 
scamps will attack me again, now that they 
know I am on my guard, still I suppose 
it will be best to leave their neighborhood as 
soon as possible. Come, step up here ! ” 

Dominic accepted the invitation, and the 
man took up the reins and recommenced his 
drive. The horses trotted forward briskly, 
and in the course of a half hour, Dominic 
saw a welcome gleam of light twinkling 
through the murky darkness. 


8o 


DOMINIC. 


“ God be thanked ! ” he exclaimed, heartily; 
there is a light ! ” 

"‘Yes, thank him, I say too,” replied the 
driver of the wagon. “ In a quarter of an 
hour we shall be at the inn on the highroad, 
safe under shelter. I know the landlord ; I 
always put up at his house when I come this 
way. And, first of all, my very best thanks 
to you, young man. Your help came just at 
the right moment. Those fellows had no 
kind intentions toward me, and they surprised 
me so completely that I had not even time to 
seize my weapons. I always carry a loaded 
gun and a sabre with me, but as I was so 
near the inn I did not anticipate any danger, 
and left them lying behind me in the wagon, 
out of my reach. In future I shall take better 
care, especially when I am out at night. The 
rascals ! They must have known that I have 
some packages of valuable goods with me, or 
they would scarcely have ventured to attack 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 8l 

me. But we gave them a warm reception. 
They went off as fast as their legs could 
carry them. But, indeed, young gentleman, 
without your help the affair would have ended 
very differently, for they were four against 
one ; and though I am not exactly one of the 
weakest, there is not much to be done with 
four such fellows, especially in the dark, where 
one of them might run a knife into a man’s 
back before he knew it. My best thanks, 
my lad, for saving me from such an end. 
But how did you come to be out on such a 
night as this, just in the right place ?” 

Dominic replied that he had intended going 
to the town, but in the dark had taken the 
wrong road. 

“ Yes, yes, I know the spot,” said his com- 
panion. The road forks there ; the narrow 
path turns to the left toward the town, while 
this broader road leads off to the capital of 

the province. Well, you made a fine circuit, 
F 


82 


DOMINIC. 


for at the fork you were only about half a 
league from the town, but you could not see 
it because it lies behind a ridge of hills. I 
cannot say I am sorry for your mishap, for if 
you had not been here, I should most likely 
have been lying at this minute dead on the 
road. Surely it was the good Lord’s provi- 
dence that brought you thither. You need 
not be sorry for your misfortune. To-morrow 
I am going to the town myself in a light 
wagon, and then it will be all right, unless, 
indeed, a few hours’ time lost should be of 
consequence to you.” 

“ Oh no,” replied Dominic ; “ I am neither 
pressed for time nor led to the town by any 
particular business. I should very likely 
have been quite as well off in any other place 
as in that one, for I was only going to take 
refuge there for a night.” 

“ Well, then you will be quite as comfort- 
able at the inn — ^perhaps more so,” said the 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 83 

driver of the wagon ; “ and it shall not cost 
you a farthing; of course I will pay your 
reckoning. But, if I may ask, who are you, 
young man, and how did you come here ? I 
hear by your speech that you are from the 
Oberland, like myself Yes, yes, a carrier 
sees a good deal of the world, in going, as I 
do, up and down through the country with 
my wagon.” 

Dominic had no motive for reserve. He 
related simply and truthfully all the circum- 
stances with which we are already acquainted, 
and the carrier listened to him with so much 
interest that only the sudden stopping of his 
horses recalled him to the present. 

Eh, here we are at the inn !” he inter- 
rupted Dominic. “Tell me the rest in the 
room here, over something to eat. Go in 
now; I must take the horses to the stable 
and see after their comfort ; the poor animals 
that can’t take care of themselves must come 


84 


DOMINIC. 


first. Well, good-evening, Michael !” he said, 
turning to a serving-lad who came forward 
with a lantern. “All well in the house ?” 

“Yes, yes, Herr Mehlhuber,” said the 
youth, nodding. “All well, and will be glad 
to see you. Shall I unharness ?’’ 

“ Certainly !“ replied the driver, coming 
down from the wagon to assist in unfasten- 
ing the horses. For the moment he paid no 
attention to Dominic. His whole care be- 
longed to his horses, which he led to the 
stable and fed with his own hands. Not 
until they had received most scrupulous care 
did he leave the stable and go into the inn- 
parlor. There he greeted his new traveling 
companion again with a friendly nod and a 
hearty shake of the hand. 

“ Michael, give us something to eat — the 
best you have and plenty of it !“ he said to 
the serving-man. “ I am hungry as a bear, 
and I see that my good guest here will be 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 85 

none the worse for a comfortable meal. 
Quick, Michael ! it is after midnight, and we 
want an hour or two to sleep when we are 
done eating.” 

‘‘Yes, yes, Herr Mehlhuber, you shall be 
served at once,” said the willing youth, hur- 
rying off to the kitchen. 

The table was soon laid, and a good, 
strengthening soup was smoking with a 
most cheerful and inviting fragrance in a 
large bowl before the poor, half-starved 
Dominic. 

“ Help yourself, my young friend,” said 
Herr Mehlhuber, the carrier, setting him the 
example. Dominic did not wait to be pressed. 
He ate and drank, from time to time stealing 
a quiet, observing glance at his entertainer, 
who nodded to him now and then most en- 
couragingly, inviting him to help himself 
freely. The man pleased Dominic. He had 
a broad, good-humored face, with clear blue 


86 


DOMINIC. 


eyes that were full of benevolence. It was 
easy to see at a glance that he had a kind 
heart for every one, and that no suspicion or 
deceit lurked behind those open, though 
somewhat rugged and sunburnt features. 
Strong, broad shoulders, and hands as pow- 
erful as bears’ paws, bespoke an unusually 
muscular frame, and Dominic could not but 
agree with him that he was not among the 
weakest of men, though, to judge by his 
slightly-silvered hair, he must have been past 
middle age. 

Herr Mehlhuber, on his part, was as ob- 
servant of his young guest. He looked him 
straight in the eyes more than once. Appa- 
rently, he was satisfied with the boy, for after 
their supper was over he clapped him kindly 
on the shoulder, and asked him to continue 
his account of his misfortunes. 

“ I see how things are, my son,” said he, 
when Dominic had told him all. “You are 


THE JOURNEY AND RECEPTION. 8/ 

poor, forsaken and far from your home, and 
you need a helping hand. That you shall 
have, if you act honestly and faithfully, which 
I do not doubt you will. But we must take 
time to think. We will talk it over in the 
morning ; for the present we must go to bed, 
for it is late. Good-night; go to sleep with an 
easy mind.” 

They parted with a cordial pressure of the 
hand. Dominic’s heart was peaceful and con- 
tented, and his sleep sound and refreshing. 
Through God’s grace he had found a friend, 
and his confident hope for the future rested 
in the care and guidance of his heavenly 
Father. 




III. 

HERR KUMMERLEIN, 

T T ERR MEHLHUBER was a peculiar 
character. Although he took a lively 
interest in Dominic, and was busily turning 
over his affairs in his mind, yet he said not a 
word of his plans for him until after breakfast 
had been served the next morning and fully 
enjoyed, at least by himself Dominic natu- 
rally felt some impatience to know what the 
good carrier’s ideas might be concerning him ; 
but he was obliged to wait quietly until the 
last crumb of bread and the last morsel of 
ham had disappeared from his friend’s plate. 
At last Herr Mehlhuber laid down his 

knife and fork, leaned back comfortably in 
88 



HERR KUMMERLEIN. 


89 


his arm-chair, and looked at Dominic with a 
very thoughtful and sympathizing expression. 

Now let us chat a little, my dear boy,” he 
began. “I have been thinking over night 
what might be done to secure you a com- 
fortable living, and at last I have hit upon 
something that I think will answer, provided 
you are not afraid of work. But one question 
first : can you read, write and cipher ?” 

“ I have learned how, and my schoolmaster 
often praised me,” replied the boy. 

That is good ; yes, I think my plan will 
answer,” Herr Mehlhuber continued. “ I 
will tell you what it is. In the large city to 
which we will go to-day I know a wealthy 
gentleman who owns a large publishing- 
house and a printing-office, and as I have 
had considerable business with him and sold 
many a package of books for him, I am in 
hopes he can find a place for you somewhere 

if I speak to him for you. There, for the 
8 * 


/ 

90 DOMINIC. 

present, you may have employment and earn 
your daily bread. What becomes of you 
afterward will depend alone on your willing- 
ness, your skill and diligence. Who knows 
but that you may at last become a printer, or 
even perhaps a correspondent for the house ? 
That would settle you well in life, and you 
need never be sorry that they did not take 
you as gardener’s boy. This is my idea ; and 
now tell me whether you are quite satisfied 
with it, for you know it will affect your whole 
future life.” 

I am satisfied — very well satisfied, Herr 
Mehlhuber,” replied Dominic, without hesi- 
tation. “ If the gentleman you speak of will 
employ me, I will try to deserve your recom- 
mendation.” 

“Very well, it is all arranged then,” said 
Herr Mehlhuber, holding out his hand to his 
young protege with a kind smile. “Shake 
hands upon it ! To-morrow morning, early, I 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 


91 

will take you to Herr Kummerlein, and then 
we shall see.” 

Dominic extended his hand, and Herr 
Mehlhuber, pressing it affectionately, rose 
from the table to go and take care of his 
horses and to make preparations for setting 
forth again. But Dominic stopped him for a 
moment. 

'' I had almost forgotten,” he said. “What 
is to become of the pocket-book that I found 
on the road ? — the one I told you about, you 
remember, last night.” 

“ Oh yes, that pocket-book 1” answered the 
carrier. “ Show it to me, my son. We will 
see what is in it, and perhaps we may find 
the owner’s name. Then it will be easy to 
restore it to him.” 

Dominic took out the pocket-book. It 
was almost new, made of fine red morocco, 
quite thick and heavy, and with a little lock 
securely fastened. Herr Mehlhuber exam- 


92 DOMINIC. 

ined it on all sides, weighed it in his hand, 
pressed the lock back and forward, but could 
not succeed in opening it. 

“ There is no help for it, it must be forced,” 
he said at last, “ for how else could we find 
the owner ? The knife will do it easily 
enough.” 

He slipped the strong blade of his knife 
between the morocco and the lock, and im- 
mediately succeeded in ripping the cover. 

‘‘ Well, well, this is something worth look- 
ing at,” he exclaimed. “A great package of 
bank-bills ! These must be examined and 
counted. Only see this bundle, Dominic ; it 
must be worth two hundred thalers, if not 
more !” 

Dominic was almost frightened at the 
riches which Herr Mehlhuber took from the 
pocket-book and spread out upon the table. 
The notes were counted, and to their surprise 
amounted to more than five hundred thalers. 



t 







♦ 



* 

« 


t 

* I 


r 


« 


• t 








I 



9 




I 




.1 


ti 


c 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 93 

But nothing was to be found which afforded 
the slightest clue to the owner ; no letter, no 
card, nor the least intimation of his residence. 

Herr Mehlhuber rolled up the notes again 
with a thoughtful air, restored them to their 
place, and closed the pocket-book as well as 
the broken lock would permit. 

“ That is a good finding, Dominic,” said 
he. “ Plenty of money, and no one but my- 
self to know that it does not belong to you. 
Had you not best keep it? It would give 
you an excellent start in life.” 

“ Oh, Herr Mehlhuber, what are you think- 
ing of?” answered the boy, warmly, and with 
a gesture of aversion at the idea. “To keep 
found property is no better than stealing, and 
for all the wealth in the world I could not 
break the commandment of God !” 

“How? You foolish fellow, who is to 
know that you found the money?” returned 
Herr Mehlhuber. “ No one saw you pick up 


94 


DOMINIC. 


the pocket-book on the highroad, and it need 
not make any difference that I know it, for 
of course wouldn’t I keep your secret be- 
cause you helped me so bravely against the 
robbers ? No, no ! I need never say a word 
about it. There ! take the pocket-book and 
put it away.” 

Dominic shook his head, and pushed the 
pocket-book from him. 

“You surely are not in earnest, Herr 
Mehlhuber,” said he. “ The Lord God says, 
‘ Thou shalt not steal,’ and I must obey the 
commandment.” 

“ I thought so ! I thought you would say 
so, and I am very glad that I was not mis- 
taken in you,” said Herr Mehlhuber, with a 
joyful and satisfied expression. “ It is even 
so; fraud is fraud, whether any one knows 
of it or not. One at least must know — He 
who is above us, with his all-seeing eye be- 
holding us. Yes, it is right and good in you, 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 95 

Dominic, not to use this money; but, now, 
what is to be done with it ? Where is this 
strange gentleman to be found who has lost 
it? Who knows where he may have gone 
during the night ? How can we possibly let 
him know that we have found his property ? 
Hm ! hm ! what is to be done ?” 

“ Do you take the money, Herr Mehl- 
huber,” suggested Dominic. “ It will be 
safe with you, and perhaps we can advertise 
it in the papers when we reach the town.” 

Yes, my son, that will do,” returned the 
carrier, after a moment’s thought. “And 
Herr Kummerlein can perhaps advise us. 
Well, that is enough for the present; be 
ready to go, for I shall get out my horses 
now, and we must start. Keep the pocket- 
book ; it cannot be in better hands than your 
own.” 

He laid it down on the table and went out. 
Dominic put up the precious parcel as care- 


96 


DOMINIC. 


fully as he could, and when, a few minutes 
after, he heard Herr Mehlhuber’s whip crack 
and his horses’ hoofs clatter on the paving- 
stones outside, he hurried out and took his 
place in the wagon. Michael, the good-na- 
tured servant, wished them a safe journey, 
the horses obeyed the carrier’s signal, the 
wagon rolled out of the gate, and soon they 
found themselves jogging along the highroad 
on their way to the capital. 

It was already dark when Herr Mehlhuber 
and Dominic reached that place, but although 
the journey had occupied the whole day, the 
boy had not found it tedious. Herr Mehl- 
huber had shown himself very kind and un- 
usually chatty, even for him ; he had called 
Dominic’s attention to every remarkable ob- 
ject they passed ; he had told him a great 
deal about the city in which he expected to 
live, and had painted a lively picture of the 
busy activity that prevailed in Herr Kum- 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 9/ 

merlein’s large business establishment. So 
the day passed quickly and pleasantly; and 
when they drove into the city streets, the 
lamps were lighted and a cheerful radiance 
streamed across the pavements from the 
many windows of the shops and dwelling- 
houses. Dominic gazed around him, amazed 
and admiring. Never had he seen so large 
and so beautiful a city, and a wonderful feel- 
ing, that was half anxious fear, half joyful 
hope, took possession of his mind as he 
thought : 

“What will become of me now in this 
great mass of houses and of people ? — I, that 
am not much more here than a drop of water 
in the great, deep sea?” 

Guessing his thoughts, Herr Mehlhuber 
patted him on the shoulder, saying, with a 
smile, 

“ Courage, Dominic. All will be right ; 

the Lord never forsakes those who love him 
9 Q 


98 


DOMINIC. 


and keep his commandments ! But here we 
are at my house. To-night, of course, you 
will stay with me, and to-morrow — well, I 
think I know what Herr Kummerlein will 
say when I take you to him. Come, step 
down. So. Now we are at home.” 

The kind Herr Mehlhuber took care of the 
boy like a father, and on the next morning he 
took him to Herr Kummerlein’s establish- 
ment, a fine, large building near the market- 
place. Cheerful and confident, he passed 
through the glass door into the large store, 
the walls of which were covered from floor to 
ceiling with books arranged on wooden 
shelves. He greeted with a friendly and 
familiar nod a young man who was arranging 
some hundreds of packages of books, and 
inquired of him whether Herr Kummerlein 
had yet come. The youth directed him to a 
door in the back part of the room, and Herr 
Mehlhuber immediately went toward it, de- 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 99 

siring his young companion to wait outside 
a little while for him. 

I will be back directly,” he said ; “ in the 
mean time, you can look at some picture- 
books. Give him one or two, if you please, 
John; I know you have plenty on the 
shelves.” 

The young salesman kindly brought a 
number of books, which he laid down on 
the long counter before Dominic’s sparkling 
eyes. 

“ There ! see if you like those,” said he, 
kindly. “You will have abundance of time, 
for Herr Kummerlein generally talks a good 
while with Herr Mehlhuber. It may be an 
hour before he comes out.” 

Dominic opened one of the large, hand- 
some books, and charmed with the beautiful 
pictures it contained and the sight of the 
thousands of books that surrounded him, he 
felt an ardent desire that Herr Kummerlein 


TOO 


DOMINIC. 


might consent to take him into his service. 
‘‘How much one might learn here!” he 
thought. “All the wisdom of the world 
must be contained in these books. If I can 
only stay here and be allowed to read some 
of them, how delightful it will be ! ” 

“ I suppose you have never seen so many 
books in your life before, you look so curi- 
ously at them,” said the salesman, interrupt- 
ing his reflections. 

“No,” said Dominic; “at home we have 
very little more than the Bible and the Cate- 
chism. I never dreamed there could be so 
many books in one place as there are here.” 

“ These ? Why this is scarcely anything I 
You ought to see the warehouse ; then you 
might wonder indeed.” 

“ If I only could I ” said Dominic. “ Noth- 
ing would please me better. But Herr Mehl- 
huber stays so long I am afraid nothing will 
come of it.” 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. lOI 

“ Nothing will come of what ? ” asked the 
salesman, with curiosity. 

Why, that I can stay here,” Dominic re- 
plied, ingenuously. “ Herr Mehlhuber brought 
me here to ask Herr Kummerlein if he could 
employ me.” 

“Ah, is that it? Well, you will know be- 
fore long. And would you like to come to 
us?” 

“Yes, indeed; especially if I may read a 
great deal.” 

“ Oh, no one will prevent that, of course, 
after your work is done. As to your staying 
here, I know our gentleman thinks a great 
deal of Herr Mehlhuber. If he answers for 
you, I have no doubt Herr Kummerlein will 
find a place for you somewhere.” 

“ Dominic, come here ! ” cried Herr Mehl- 
huber’s powerful voice from behind them. 
“ Quickly ! Herr Kummerlein wants to see 


9 * 


102 


DOMINIC. 


“Did I not say so?” whispered the sales- 
man. “It’s as good as done. Go through 
this way, and do not be afraid ; Herr Kum- 
merlein is a very kind man.” 

Dominic had no fears. Of what should he 
be afraid? Yet he could not but feel a little 
nervous as he entered the counting-room, 
where it was to be decided whether he should 
stay or not. But Herr Mehlhuber, meeting 
him at the door, quickly relieved his anxiety. 

“ It is all settled, Dominic,” said he. “ Go 
to Herr Kummerlein and thank him. He 
promises to take you at once as errand-boy 
into the printing-office.” 

“ I do so because Herr Mehlhuber has re- 
commended you very highly to me,” said 
Herr Kummerlein, kindly returning Domi- 
nic’s salutation. “ If I am satisfied with what 
I hear of you in the future, I will see what I 
can do for you. I hope you will be diligent, 
honorable and obedient?” 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. IO3 

Indeed I will, sir ! ” answered Dominic, 
earnestly. “Ask Herr Mehlhuber if I did 
not promise him so yesterday.” 

Herr Kummerlein, a kindly old gentleman 
with mild blue eyes and white hair, smiled 
and nodded to Herr Mehlhuber, as if to say, 
“ The boy pleases me very much and Herr 
Mehlhuber replied with a look that said as 
plainly, “ I told you so ! ” and expressed 
much satisfaction besides. Then Herr Kum- 
merlein said, 

“ Well, well, Dominic, you may go now to 
the printing-office ; John, out there, will show 
you the way, and tell him to send the fore- 
man here. Good-morning.” 

“ Good-bye, Dominic,” said Herr Mehl- 
huber also, holding out his hand to the boy. 
“ Since you are to stay here now, we shall 
not meet again very soon. But I shall be 
glad to have you come often to see me on 
Sunday afternoons — of course with Herr 


104 


DOMINIC. 


Kummerlein’s permission. Good-bye ; God 
grant you success in your new business ! ” 

Dominic pressed the hand of his fatherly 
friend, assuring him that he would visit him 
soon, if he could get leave, bade Herr Kum- 
merlein good-morning and went back into the 
store, where John conjectured immediately, by 
his happy countenance, that his application 
had been successful. 

“ All settled ?” he asked. 

“ Yes !” replied Dominic, joyfully. I am 
to go the printing-office, and you are to show 
me the way, sir, and to send the foreman to 
Herr Kummerlein.” 

John pushed his packages aside, exclaim- 
ing, “ Good ! I am glad you are to stay with 
us, and I hope we shall become better ac- 
quainted, for I like you ; come, let us go to 
the printing-room.” 

He passed through a side door and across 
the yard, Dominic following him. The boy’s 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. IO5 

eyes were full of astonishment as he entered 
the printing-office, for he had never seen 
such a place before. In a large room, some 
hundred feet each way, were arranged many 
printing-presses and cases of type ; thirty or 
forty men were busily engaged, the little 
types were flying and clicking, the iron 
presses creaking and rattling, the printed 
sheets of paper rustling. Dominic did not 
know which way to look, and stood gazing 
in silent wonder. The presses were the 
greatest marvel of all. It seemed so strange 
to see the pure white paper slipped into them, 
and coming out immediately afterward cov- 
ered with letters. John could not help smil- 
ing at his puzzled countenance. 

It looks like magic, doesn’t it ?” he said. 

Wait a few days, and you will be used to it. 
But come, I must take you to the foreman 
and introduce you as the new errand-boy.” 

The foreman was sitting in one corner at a 


I06 DOMINIC. 

desk, engaged in reading over a printed sheet 
on the white margin of which he made all 
sorts of lines and marks with red ink. 

'‘That is proof-reading, our young begin- 
ner,” said John, smilingly, to Dominic. “I 
prophesy that you will take many such 
sheets through the streets of our town to 
our old proof-reader, Friedmeier, who lives 
in Turn-again alley, number eight, five 
stories up, which errand is no very light 
employment in summer-time, with the ther- 
mometer at ninety in the shade. Here, Herr 
Foreman, I bring you a new errand-boy; 
also a request from Herr Kummerlein that 
you will go to him at once.” 

The foreman looked up and asked Dominic 
whether John’s message was correct, declaring 
that young gentleman to be an incorrigible 
joker. Being satisfied that there was no 
trick, he gave his new “hand” something 
to do — not of the most entertaining kind, it 


HERR KUMMERLEIN. 10/ 

is true — only sheets of paper to count. Dom- 
inic knew he was there to work, so he de- 
voted himself faithfully to it, without stopping 
to think whether his task was particularly 
agreeable or not. 




IV. 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 

FTER a few weeks passed in his new 



situation, Dominic began to feel quite 
at home. At first everything seemed strange, 
especially as he had not an acquaintance or 
friend at hand, but this was a disadvantage 
that did not last long. The boy’s pleasant, 
good-natured countenance readily won for 
him every one’s good-will; his willingness 
and activity gained the foreman’s favor, as 
also the friendship of the other two errand- 
boys employed in the office. To these latter 
he one evening told his little history, adding 
that it made him very sad to live without a 
friend near him ; the two kind-hearted youths. 


108 



OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 


quite overcome, embraced him with brotherly- 
warmth, and promised always to stand by 
him and be his friends. 

And they kept their word. Instead of put- 
ting all the hardest duties on the shoulders 
of the new hand, as they had always before 
done, they treated him from that evening 
quite differently. They relieved him of the 
heaviest and most disagreeable tasks, as far 
as they could, and when that was impossible, 
they cordially gave him their help. And so 
Dominic, as we have already said, soon be- 
came thoroughly at home in the printing- 
office, and desired nothing better than the 
modest lot to which the Lord seemed to 
have called him. 

During all the time that he had been em- 
ployed in the printing-office he had been con- 
stantly engaged in mechanical labor, such as 
counting paper, washing the forms and keeping 

the presses in order. But one day the foreman 
10 


no 


DOMINIC. 


saw him reading a scrap of a torn proof-sheet, 
and this trifling circumstance was the occa- 
sion of his being entirely relieved from work 
of that kind. 

“Ah, you can read,” said the foreman; 
“ can you read manuscript too ?” 

“Yes, sir, when it is not very hard to un- 
derstand.” 

“ Well, we will try you. Come here to my 
desk and read to me what is on that sheet of 
paper.” 

The handwriting of the manuscript which 
the foreman handed to Dominic was fortu- 
nately quite large and distinct, and the boy 
was able to read it fluently. The foreman was 
greatly pleased. 

“ Good ! very good !” said he. “ I have 
always had to get one of the type-setters to 
help me in reading proof, but from this time 
you shall be my assistant. Consider your- 
self promoted. We will begin now ; you 


I 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 


Ill 


can just go on from the place where you left 
off. Now, then!” 

Dominic continued reading; the foreman 
took the printed sheet, altered and corrected 
it, while the boy read page after page ; and so 
the work proceeded rapidly. 

“ Stop 1” said the foreman, at last. “ This 
sheet is all we shall do at present. I am 
very well pleased, and, as I said, from this 
time you shall help me in correcting. I sup- 
pose you will be satisfied, will you ?” 

“ I am satisfied to do whatever you wish, 
Herr Foreman,” replied Dominic. “As for 
correcting proof, I have found out that it is 
rather pleasanter work than counting and 
wetting down paper. There are such inter- 
esting things on those pages.” 

“ Ah I you have not read them mechan- 
ically; you have been thinking about them. 
So much the better. After a while you 
will be able to correct easy proof yourself. 


II2 


DOMINIC. 


which would be a still greater assistance to 
me. 

“ I should be very glad to learn, Herr 
Foreman, particularly if it would be of any 
use to you.” 

The foreman nodded kindly. “ We shall 
see. Perhaps we can make something out 
of you, if you are so disposed. But in the 
first place, I have found that you can read 
very well ; how is it about writing ; are you 
good at that too ?” 

“Our schoolmaster at home said that I 
was,” replied Dominic. “ He often gave me 
the exercise-books of the other boys to look 
over and to mark the errors when he had not 
time to do it himself. The schoolmaster was 
Herr Wilke.” 

“ Why, in that case, Dominic, you are quite 
a treasure to us ! ” exclaimed the foreman. 
“Another trial now; here is another proof- 
sheet. Take it and read it through, and mark 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. II5 

all the faults you find in it as you used to 
mark the exercise-books at home.” 

“ But I do not know the marks you use on 
the margin, Herr Foreman.” 

“ That makes no difference for the present ; 
only make a line on the margin wherever 
you find an error in the print. I will take 
care of the rest.” 

It did not seem to Dominic any great task 
to find out the mistakes and note them. He 
took the moist, newly-printed sheet, sat down 
in a corner and began quietly reading. Often 
enough he found occasion to put a mark, 
sometimes two or three marks, on the white 
edge of the paper, and when he had finished 
reading the sheet more than an hour had 
passed. But diligently as he read, he soon 
found that it would not do to go over the 
lines too fast, and some of the pages he read 
a second time. At last, thinking that he had 

thoroughly accomplished his task, he carried 
10 » H 


II4 DOMINIC. 

it to the foreman, who scanned it with care- 
ful attention. 

“ Pretty well for a beginning,” said the lat- 
ter. ‘^You have not passed over any great 
faults, and for the more minute corrections, 
practice will make you perfect.” 

“ I thought I had not let anything escape 
me,” said Dominic, ingenuously. *‘I have 
looked over almost all of it twice.” 

“And skipped a good many mistakes, for 
all that,” replied the foreman, pleasantly. 
“ See here, I will show you. Here a comma 
is wanting, here is an a too many, here an f 
omitted, here is a, u instead of an n, here an a 
instead of an r, here — ” 

“Yes, it is so!” interrupted Dominic, very 
much surprised. “ I could not have believed 
it 1 How stupid I am ! So I cannot be of 
any use to you in proof-reading, Herr Fore- 
man ; I am very sorry 1 ” 

“ Why are you sorry ? ” 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. II5 

“ Because I should have liked very much 
to be a little useful.” 

“So; that is right,” said the foreman. 
“ Well, I can tell you, you will be able to 
make yourself very useful if you really wish 
to do so. Take this sheet. All the signs 
used by the proof-corrector are given there. 
Practice making them, and learn how to use 
them. I will give you several days for that 
purpose. You will find plenty of useless 
printing paper lying about here, which you 
may write upon. Be diligent, and in a day 
or two we will make another trial.” 

Dominic took the paper, and from that time 
was seen sitting quietly in his corner, ab- 
sorbed in study, copying the marks and ap- 
plying them to the errors on the waste sheets 
he had gathered together. By the next day 
he was able to use the signs readily, and one 
day more enabled him to do it without any 
mistakes. He had now not only become 


i6 


DOMINIC. 


familiar with these signs, but had acquired 
also a more practiced eye for the detection of 
errors. On the third day the foreman beck- 
oned to him, and asked him what success he 
had met with. 

“ I think I might make another trial,” said 
Dominic. 

“ Well, do so and the foreman gave him, 
as before, a freshly-printed sheet. 

Dominic sat down in his corner and read. 
This time he only required three-quarters 
of an hour to make his corrections, and the 
foreman looked up with some surprise as 
the boy approached his desk. 

“ That was quickly done,” he said. “ Let 
us see.” 

He took another sheet from a pile of pa- 
pers that lay near him, placed it beside 
Dominic’s, and compared the two. Dominic 
saw that it was a second copy of the same 
sheet, which the foreman had himself cor- 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 11/ 

rected. His heart beat rather faster than 
usual during the examination, but at last he 
colored with pleasure, when it was followed 
by the exclamation, Really good ! very 
good ! ” and the foreman turned to him and 
patted him kindly on the shoulder. 

“ That is indeed a creditable piece of work,” 
said he. “ It agrees with mine point for 
point, line for line ; only three or four trifling 
improvements could be made. From this 
time I shall take you as my assistant, Domi- 
nic, and I will say a word or two to Herr 
Kummerlein in your favor. Your wages 
shall be doubled. No thanks ! It is nothing 
more than right ; the laborer is worthy of his 
hire.” 

From that day the counting and wetting 
down of the papers, the cleaning of the ma- 
chinery and other similar work was left to the 
other two boys. This, however, did not dis- 
turb their friendship for Dominic. They 


ii8 


DOMINIC. 


never begrudged him his promotion, because 
he never seemed to consider himself above 
them, and besides, he had earned it by his 
knowledge and talents, as well as by his 
patient industry. Their regard for him re- 
mained as true as ever; the only difference 
was that they treated him with a little more 
ceremony than before. But Dominic laughed 
at this, and did not suffer himself to become 
at all puffed up by his prosperity. 

So passed the winter. One day, when the 
bright spring sun shone clear and warm into 
the windows, filling everything with new life, 
new power and delight, an old gentleman 
came into the printing-office. His hair was 
white and tied behind in a queue, his eyes 
large and of a bright blue, his countenance 
very smiling and pleasant, lips small and deli- 
cate, and his face covered with wrinkles, which 
lay thickest around the corners of his mouth 
and eyes. There was nothing in his appear- 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 1 19 

ance to indicate wealth or distinction ; on the 
contrary, he was dressed in a plain gray coat, 
which displayed unmistakable signs of age, 
and the cut of which belonged rather to the 
past than to the present. But, threadbare 
and old-fashioned as he looked, the old gen- 
tleman was scrupulously neat. There was no 
dust on the old coat, not a soiled spot any- 
where visible, and his white necktie was as 
pure and fresh as if it had just come from the 
hands of the washer-woman. The old gen- 
tleman’s right hand rested upon a brown 
walking-stick with a yellow head, and his 
left clasped a roll of paper. He walked up 
the room among the presses and cases of 
type, greeted on all sides with a polite 
Good-morning, Herr Friedmeier,” to which 
he replied with a pleasant bow and smile, and 
went to the corner where the foreman was 
sitting. Every one politely made way for 
him, and the foreman himself, as soon as he 


20 


DOMINIC. 


perceived him, sprang up from his leather- 
covered arm-chair, advanced to meet him and 
saluted him in the most cordial manner. 

“ Herr Friedmeier, a thousand times wel- 
come !” said he, taking the visitor’s hat and 
cane, and pressing his hand with unusual 
warmth. “What favorable wind has blown 
you among us again ? Herr Kummerlein 
will be very happy to see you.” 

“Your compliment is just a little late in 
the day, Herr Foreman,” replied the old 
man. “I have just come from him; he sent 
me to you with this little manuscript, which 
you are to give to the compositors immedi- 
ately. Herr Kummerlein says there is need 
of haste.” 

“Ah, another work of yours, Herr Fried- 
meier, I am certain !” said the foreman. 
“ Yes, there is always a hurry for your manu- 
scripts, which are as good as gold. We will 
to work at once.” 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 


I2I 


“ Not SO fast, not so fast, my good fore- 
man,” interrupted Herr Friedmeier. “ It is a 
very particular affair, and that is the reason I 
have come myself with it It must be given 
to a type-setter who is expert at setting up 
numbers, and the proofs must be read with 
extraordinary care. For this time I should 
prefer to read the first as well as the last 
proofs myself ; indeed, I will attend to all the 
corrections. It is important to me to send 
this little work into the world as free from 
' errata’ as possible.” 

“Very well, Herr Friedmeier; but where 
will you find time for that ? Remember, you 
have the correction of three large works on 
your hands already; one in Sanscrit, one in 
Arabic, and the other in Greek, and now a 
fourth ! It will be too much for you, Herr 
Friedmeier.” 

The old gentleman smiled. “ Well, I 

must rise early, and use a little of the night 
11 


122 


DOMINIC. 


to help out the day; then I can do it,” he 
replied. 

“ Oh yes, if your health would not suffer 
from so much application,” interrupted the 
foreman. “Now listen, Herr Friedmeier: I 
have a proposal to make to you — always 
provided that your manuscript is in German.” 

“Yes, but the numbers; the rest is easy 
enough.” 

“ Well, then, let us give the first correction 
to our Dominic, the second I will undertake, 
and the third we will leave to you. But 1 
will answer for it that if Dominic has read 
the proof, there will not be much left for us 
to do.” 

“ Dominic ? Who is he ? I do not know 
him at all. Another proof-reader? Is Herr 
Kummerlein no longer satisfied with me ?” 

“ Nothing of the kind, I assure you, Herr 
Friedmeier !” returned the foreman, promptly. 
“ Where should we find any one more learned 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. I23 

than yourself? No; our Dominic is but a 
youth, who came to us a few months ago as 
errand-boy, and has already become my 
right-hand man in all ordinary proof-read- 
ing. He has an eye like a hawk’s, Herr 
Friedmeier; not the smallest error escapes 
him, and if I desire him to exercise particu- 
lar care upon your work, we may rest easy 
about it.” 

‘‘ Hm ! hm ! Why have I never seen him ? 
I know all your other errand-boys.” 

“ He has not gone out on errands, because 
I discovered his ability very soon after he 
came to us. But if you would like to see 
him, he is sitting at his work over there in 
the corner.” 

The old gentleman looked keenly at Dom- 
inic’s open countenance. 

“A very fine-looking youth,” said he. 

Attentive to his business, too ; does not let 
his eyes wander idly around ! I must have 


124 


DOMINIC. 


a better look at this phoenix of yours. I will 
see ; I will see.” 

He quietly approached Dominic, and looked 
over his shoulder for a few minutes without 
moving, the boy not suspecting at all how 
closely he was observed. After a time, Herr 
Friedmeier returned to the foreman. 

find him extremely careful and accu- 
rate,” he remarked. We can try him. 
Send the young man — Dominic, you called 
him ? an unusual name — send him to me 
with the first proof-sheets, that he may read 
them under my supervision.” 

It shall be done just as you wish, Herr 
Friedmeier'^’ the foreman promised. 

Shortly after, having given some||Darticu- 
lar directions to the type-setter, Herr Fried- 
meier left the printing-room. Dominic had 
not even been aware of his presence. 

Two days later, the foreman called Dom- 
inic to his desk, handed him a printed sheet 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 12 $ 

of quarto size, and told him to take it to 
Herr Friedmeier and correct it under his di- 
rections ; to do it with very especial care, 
particularly as regarded the many numbers 
he would find in it. 

Herr Friedmeier ? Who is he? Oh yes, 
I remember — our learned proof-reader ! But 
why must I go to him?” 

“ Because he desires it. We have to pay 
great attention to his wishes ; it would not do 
for us to offend him. If he should not attend 
any longer to our proofs — which, by the way, 
he does for so small a compensation that it is 
really an obligation to us — we should be in a 
great strait. And suppose he were to find 
himself another publisher? It would be a 
very severe blow to Herr Kummerlein. No, 
no ; no hesitation, Dominic, you must go to 
him and be careful to follow his directions to 
the letter.” 

Certainly, Herr Foreman, since you de- 
li * 


126 


DOMINIC. 


sire it,” answered Dominic. “ I only wonder 
that so much pains should be taken to please 
a mere proof-reader.” 

“ A mere proof-reader ? Are you in your 
senses, Dominic ? But you do not know 
Herr Friedmeier; you do not understand 
what you are talking about. He is perhaps 
the most learned man in all this city ; and if 
he were not what people call an eccentric sort 
of man, he might be a professor, or whatever 
else he chose. Such positions have been 
offered to him over and again, but he always 
declines them. * Poor and independent,’ he 
always says, * rather than rich and dependent.’ 
Such is his notion ; he is very different from 
other people, but there are few to compare 
with him in knowledge. Go to him, Domi- 
nic ; if you can win his esteem, no one knows 
how useful he may be to you. There is a 
great deal to be learned from him.” 

Dominic promised to do his best to satisfy 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 12/ 

Herr Friedmeier by his corrections, inquired 
as to his residence, and was directed to No. 8 
in the Sackgasse, or what John had called 
'‘Turn-again alley.” This Sackgasse was a 
retired court at a considerable distance from 
the printing-office, and Dominic was obliged 
to ask his way several times before he could 
find it. At last, however, he reached the 
court, found No. 8, and went patiently up five 
flights of stairs, until he came to the attic 
door leading to Herr Friedmeier’s rooms. 
He knocked. 

Come in ! ” called a voice from within. 
Opening the door, he entered a low-ceiled 
but somewhat large room, in which he found 
Herr Friedmeier seated at a desk which was 
covered with books, manuscripts and mathe- 
matical instruments. Around the walls, a 
part of which sloped with the roof, maps and 
drawings were hanging; on a table at one 
side of the room was a large electrical ma- 


128 


DOMINIC. 


chine; a few rose bushes were blooming 
upon the window-sills ; and through the open 
door of an adjoining apartment, Dominic saw 
an immense number of books, arranged in 
perfect order. There was nothing else of 
consequence in the room, except some bird- 
cages in the recesses of the windows, in which 
a finch, a goldfinch and a linnet twittered 
merrily and hopped from perch to perch. 
Everything was clean and orderly, but there 
was not a trace of luxury, nor did anything 
display a love of ease except an antique, 
leather-covered arm-chair and a well-worn 
sofa, which stood near the stove. But the ap- 
pearance of these articles of furniture did not 
give evidence that their owner used them 
very often. On the contrary, everything in- 
dicated that the rooms were tenanted by a 
plilosopher who held the superfluities of life 
in very low esteem as compared with lit- 
erary studies and inquiries. The birds and 


flowers alone relieved the severity of these 
simple rooms, giving them an aspect of 
cheerfulness and comfort. 

As Dominic entered, Herr Friedmeier look- 
ed up from his writing, and on recognizing 
the boy, laid down his pen and greeted him 
with a kind, familiar smile. 

“Sit down, sit down, my son,” said he. 
“ I know, you bring me the first proof of my 
little work. Here is a seat; sit down, read 
and correct, and when you have finished tell 
me.” 

Dominic obeyed, and even before he had 
taken his place by a side-table and prepared 
to mark his proof, Herr Friedmeier had re- 
seated himself at his desk and resumed his 
writing. For an hour or two nothing was 
heard in the room but the twittering of the 
birds and the light scratching of the pens on 
the paper. At last Dominic rose and brought 
his task, completed, to the old gentleman. 


130 


DOMINIC. 


The latter hastily took it, and scrutinized it 
with sharp eyes. Suddenly he paused. 

“Here is a correction where there is no 
error,” he said, after a rapid comparison with 
the manuscript. “ That is bad, my son ; that 
shows great absence of mind — the worst 
fault a proof-reader can be guilty of.” 

“ Excuse me, Herr Friedmeier,” replied 
Dominic, modestly ; “ the error appears to be 
in the manuscript. It struck me that a six 
which stood there should be five ; I calculated 
it myself, and my suspicion of a slight error 
in the reckoning was confirmed.” 

“What, what! Why, I must see about 
that!” exclaimed the old savant. “Yes, you 
are right; it should be a five, and the mis- 
take was mine. Pardon me, my son, for 
my injustice! Hum, hum, all things are 
possible !” 

He turned over and examined the proof- 
sheets to the last page, then laid them with a 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. I3I 

satisfied air upon the writing-table, turned 
around on his seat and looked Dominic full 
in the face. 

“ What is your name ? Who are you ? 
Where did you come from?” 

These and other questions succeeded each 
other rapidly, and the old man was not satis- 
fied until Dominic had fully answered them 
all. Then he sat still and meditated for a 
little while, and at last, as if recovering from 
a fit of abstraction, he raised his head and 
said, 

“Would you like to learn something more 
than proof-reading ? ” 

Dominic readily and joyfully answered, 
“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, I will speak to Herr Kummerlein 
to-day,” continued Herr Friedmeier. “ Per- 
haps I can help you. Good-bye for a time ! ” 

Dominic went away happy and light- 
hearted at the wonderful promise. To learn 


32 


DOMINIC. 


a great deal — this had always been his secret 
wish, but until now no opportunity had ever 
been offered him for its gratification. There 
were indeed many books printed in Herr 
Kummerlein’s publishing-house, but most of 
them he could not understand, and others he 
had not time to read. Now Herr Friedmeier 
had promised to help him, and though he could 
not imagine how this was to be done, he had 
no doubt that it would really come to pass. 

* The foreman had told him that very day that 
his new friend had much influence with Herr 
Kummerlein. 

Dominic’s hopes were not deceived. On 
the same afternoon, Herr Friedmeier came 
into the printing-office and told him that Herr 
Kummerlein had granted him permission, for 
an indefinite time, to dispose of his afternoons 
and evenings as he chose. 

This was brave news for Dominic, for Herr 
Friedmeier added, 


OLD HERR FRIEDMEIER. 


133 


“ Come to me, then, every day after din- 
ner, and we will share our labors.” 

Who could be happier than Dominic? On 
the very next day he repaired to the attic rooms 
in the Sackgasse, and from that time com- 
menced a life of active,' laborious, unwearied 
striving after knowledge, and of wonderful 
patience and perseverance. Teacher and pu- 
pil vied with each other in diligence, and 
Herr Friedmeier was obliged rather to re- 
strain Dominic from over-devotion to his 

studies than to incite him to increased effort. 

12 






V. 

KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. 

^"T^HREE, four, years passed away, and 
seemed to Dominic no longer than so 
many months. But in these four years he 
was much changed — changed in body and in 
mind, changed in thought and feeling. He 
was no longer the shy, ignorant child he had 
been when he left his home ; he had become 
a fine, strong young man, well supplied with 
solid acquirements, which were calculated to 
secure for him a useful and respectable posi- 
tion in life, if he but knew how to use them 
properly. Changed in other respects, his 
good disposition remained the same as ever. 
Kindness and good-will toward all mankind 


134 



KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I35 

beamed from his honest eyes, and his old 
friends and benefactors had found him ever 
true and grateful. He often thought with 
the tenderest emotions of the gentle little girl 
who had found him on the lake shore at his 
home sunk in grief and anxiety, and had be- 
friended him with such sweet sisterly kind- 
ness. Most thankful were his recollections 
of the noble Baron Brandenstein, who, carry- 
ing out the good work of his child, had of- 
fered him a refuge at his own castle, and 
would certainly have secured it to him if 
circumstances had not prevented his doing 
so. On Sunday afternoons he often visited 
the good carrier, Herr Mehlhuber, always 
showing him great affection and respect, in 
gratitude for his kind recommendation to 
Herr Kummerlein. But the old man always 
obstinately refused a word of thanks. 

“ Let me have peace !” he exclaimed when- 
ever Dominic happened, in the warmth of his 


136 


DOMINIC. 


heart, to give expression to his feelings ; 

that visit to Herr Kummerlein is not worth 
talking about.” 

“But if that visit had not been made, I 
should perhaps never have been more than a 
beggar or a day-laborer.” 

“ And if you had not come to my aid on 
that rainy night, my old bones would maybe 
be lying now six feet under ground. Non- 
sense, Dominic ! It is I that owe you thanks, 
not you me.” 

“ But could I ever have learned so much 
if I had not been with Herr Kummerlein? 
And I owe it all to you.” 

“ What folly ! As if I had given you your 
knowledge ! I got employment at Herr 
Kummerlein’s for three other boys about as 
old as you were then, and none of them has 
made anything of himself It is all due to 
your own diligence and the kindness of old 
Herr Friedmeier. He deserves your thanks. 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I37 

but keep away with such foolish talk about 
what you owe me T 

It is not idle talk, Father Mehlhuber ; I 
only say what I think and feel.” 

“ Well, think and feel what you like then, 
but keep it to yourself ; I'^don’t want to hear 
any more of it.” 

In such a manner as this several similar 
conversations were ended, and in spite of 
himself, Dominic was obliged to yield to the 
will of his old friend and refrain from ex- 
pressing his gratitude. But so much the 
more deeply was it rooted in his heart. 

So far all was well. Dominic was con- 
tented and happy, and never gave himself 
any concern about the future. But Herr 
Friedmeier thought all the more of it, and 
that too with great anxiety. The young man 
had arrived at an age when he should choose 
his calling in life ; it was already high time 
that this should be done. 


12 * 


138 


DOMINIC. 


If I were only rich, or if you had a little 
money !” he said, one day, to the young man 
after the usual study-hour was over. 

“ And why ?” asked Dominic. 

“ Because you cannot possibly be always a 
printer’s boy, with so much knowledge as 
you have acquired. If you were to fill no 
higher place than that in the world, we might 
have saved ourselves the trouble we have 
taken. What is to become of you, Dominic ? 
Have you ever thought of that ?” 

“Yes, I have thought of it,” said Dominic, 
without a shade of anxiety, “ but it has never 
occurred to me to lay any plans. Advise 
me, Herr Friedmeier. I will follow your 
counsel without hesitation.” 

The philosopher shook his head. “It is 
not hard to give advice,” he said, “but to 
find means wherewith to carry it out ; this is 
the mountain we cannot surmount. You 
know, Dominic, I earn nothing more than a 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I39 

mere support, and if I were to sell all my 
little property, my library included, there 
would be scarcely enough to maintain you 
for two years.” 

“ And can you believe, Herr Friedmeier,” 
said Dominic, reproachfully, “that I would 
ever allow you to sacrifice your beloved 
books for my sake ? Never, never, my dear, 
kind friend ! Why this anxiety ? What is 
wanting to me, that I should complain or be 
dissatisfied? It is true, I am only a poor 
printer; but are not you and Herr Mehl- 
huber my friends ? Is not the foreman of 
our printing-office very considerate with me ? 
I have enough to live on, and I live happy, 
since you are so good as to grant me your 
fatherly affection.” 

“ But who can know how long the thread 
of my life will be lengthened out? And 
then, Dominic, what then? You ought not 
to stay in the printing-office, and it makes 


140 DOMINIC. 

me sad to think that you will be obliged to 
stay there. With your acquirements, your 
intelligence and earnestness of purpose, you 
might be far more useful to your fellow- 
beings than you can ever hope to be in your 
present position.” 

“ Can we not leave this to Him whose 
wisdom fixes our lot?” returned Dominic. 
“ God has been very good to me, and I am 
sure his goodness will ever be the same ; and 
if it is his will to appoint me a position in 
life where I can serve him better than I do 
now, he will certainly be able to choose the 
right time.” 

^‘True, most true,” said the old man, 
touched by the simple piety of the youth, who 
placed all his confidence in the Lord, and in 
his strength fulfilled his duties well and faith- 
fully. ‘‘We will hope in him, that he will 
help us, who are too weak to help ourselves.” 

The conversation was dropped for that day. 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I4I 

and some weeks passed before the subject 
was renewed. But at last Herr Friedmeier 
mentioned it once more. 

‘‘ Friend Mehlhuber visited me this morn- 
ing, Dominic,” said he when the young man 
entered his room at noon. We were talking 
of you, and I learned something that I never 
before suspected. How is it about that 
pocket-book with the five hundred thalers, 
which you found long ago on the road ? ” 

For years Dominic had not thought of the 
pocket-book. After advertising it without 
success in the newspapers, he had laid it away 
in his chest for safe-keeping. He now related 
to Herr Friedmeier how he had come into 
possession of it, and the old man seemed 
quite absorbed in reflection. 

'*Hum!” he said, half aloud, “that would 
be a help ! Are you still in possession of 
the pocket-book?” he inquired of Dominic, 
who replied that he was. 


142 


DOMINIC. 


Well, then, my child, why need we have 
any further anxiety ? ” he continued. “ Take 
this money, use it for the completion of your 
education, and believe that God caused you 
to find it for this very purpose.” 

Dominic was frightened. “ That I cannot 
do,” he answered. “ I should never have 
any more peace. And if I should happen to 
meet the owner, how ashamed I should stand 
before him ! ” 

But how improbable it is that you will 
ever find him !” said Herr Friedmeier. Years 
have passed since you saw him, and no one 
has troubled himself about the money in all 
that time. Even if you were to meet the 
owner upon the street, you would scarcely 
recognize him, or he you.” 

“ Oh yes, Herr Friedmeier! I remember his 
face and figure distinctly.” 

Perhaps you may ; but he at least would 
not know you as the boy he then saw; sc 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I43 

that you need not give yourself the least 
anxiety. Who would speak, if you were 
silent?” 

''My conscience replied Dominic, simply. 
“ Day and night it would say to me, ‘ Thou 
hast broken God’s commandment.’ ” 

Herr Friedmeier scarcely knew how to 
reply. 

You are, without doubt, too strict about 
this matter,” at length he said. “ Think again. 
Suppose that you use the money, and it 
should happen some day that you should 
meet the owner. What then? Either you 
need say nothing, or, if your conscience will 
not permit that, you can go to the man and 
tell him, *My dear sir, you once lost a 
pocket-book containing money. I found it, 
and took great pains to discover the owner, 
in order to return his property. I kept it for 
many years. At last, giving up all hope of 
seeing you again, I permitted myself to use 


144 


DOMINIC. 


the money for my necessities. I acknow- 
ledge this to you freely, and I assure you 
that I regard the sum only as a loan, which I 
expect some day to repay.’ Do you suppose 
that, hearing this, the owner could or would 
reproach you in the least? I think not. He 
would certainly say, ‘I thank you for your 
candor ; it is an evidence of the sincerity of 
your intentions. I long since gave up the 
money as lost. If you are ever in circum- 
stances to repay it, I shall be very glad ; 
if not, do not be at all uneasy about it.’ 
He surely could not do otherwise, and 
your tender conscience would be quite satis- 
fied.” 

Dominic reflected for a moment, and then 
shook his head. 

Pardon me, dear friend,” he rejoined, 
“ but I cannot share your opinion. It is true, 
the man might say so, and if he were kind 
and generous, he certainly would. But should 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I 45 

I not feel doubly condemned before such a 
person? No, my benefactor, do not urge me. 
Let me keep a clear conscience. God’s bless- 
ing could not rest upon money so obtained. 
I would rather be poor, and able to look 
honest men openly in the face, than be rich, 
and have to hang my head at the question, 
^ How did you acquire your wealth ?’ ” 

Herr Friedmeier sighed and looked 
anxious. 

“Your principles are good, Dominic, and 
I can say nothing against them. But it 
seems a pity that such a sum of money should 
lie idle and useless when it might be em- 
ployed to so much advantage, and be the 
foundation of a fortune for you. But do as 
you think right. An upright printer’s jour- 
neyman is far better and nobler in the sight 
of God than a dishonorable wretch, though 
he roll in wealth and enjoy the admiration of 
all the world. We will take things as He 

13 K 


146 


DOMINIC. 


sends them, and say no more on this sub- 
ject.” 

A long time passed away before the pocket- 
book was even mentioned again, and in the 
mean time circumstances arose which caused 
it to be entirely forgotten. Herr Friedmeier 
had for some time complained of being out 
of health ; and one day, when Dominic visited 
him at the usual hour, he found his beloved 
teacher lying pale and weak upon his bed. 

“Are you ill, dear sir? What is the mat- 
ter ? ” he exclaimed in alarm. 

“Yes, I am ill, Dominic,” returned the old 
man, with a slight smile, and in a very feeble 
tone. “ I am afraid I am threatened with a very 
serious attack. God only knows whether my 
worn-out old body has strength to resist it. 
Our studies are ended for a long while, dear 
Dominic. You see I am not able to leave my 
bed, and you had better go back to the 
printing-office.” 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I47 

“ But who will take care of you if I leave 
you ?” asked Dominic. 

The philosopher shrugged his shoulders. 
“ I have no one, either friend or relative, to 
trouble himself much about old Friedmeier. 
But never mind, Dominic. My landlady will 
come in now and then, and attend to any little 
thing I require. I have sent her word to do 
so.” 

“ That will not do,” answered Dominic, posi- 
tively. “You need constant care and atten- 
tion. I am going to tell Herr Kummerlein, 
and then I shall come back and stay with 
you. There must be some one here to at- 
tend to your business, at least to your proof- 
reading, and, thank God! you have taught 
me so much that now, in the time of need, I 
can take your place for a while.” 

“ As well as myself, my son,” replied his 
old friend. “ But I cannot accept this of you. 
I cannot afford to forfeit my self-respect. 


148 DOMINIC. 

Herr Kummerlein would reduce your weekly 
pay, or perhaps withdraw it entirely.” 

“ No matter ! I will work for you, and 
earn, I hope, as much as will maintain us 
both. Besides, I can do as much here as at 
the printing-office, and I know that Herr 
Kummerlein will not oppose my remaining 
with you until you are well again.” 

“ But, Dominic, you will have double labor 
to perform !” 

“ That is nothing ; three-fold, four-fold, 
would be easy for your sake.” 

Dominic would not yield to his old friend’s 
remonstrances. He returned immediately to 
the office, informed the foreman and Herr 
Kummerlein of his intention, readily obtained 
the desired permission, and was, besides, 
warmly commended by his superiors for-his 
devotion to his kind benefactor. 

“ It is very right in you, Dominic,” said 
Herr Kummerlein, “ not to leave the old gen- 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I49 

tleman to suffer alone. The errand-boys 
shall bring you the proof-sheets every day, 
and call for them when you have finished 
your corrections. Besides, I know Herr 
Friedmeier never has much money to spare ; 
if you need anything for him, let me know. 
I will send my family physician to him to- 
day, and to-morrow I will call myself and see 
how he is.” 

Very much pleased with the reception of 
his proposition and with the friendly interest 
of his principal, Dominic returned to his pa- 
tient, to tell him the good news. The old 
man thanked him tenderly, and no longer 
refused to accept his proffered services. And 
it was soon evident that they were much 
needed. The physician made his visit, and 
looked very grave at the result of his exami- 
nation. 

It is a case that requires close attention,” 

he said, in an undertone, to Dominic. “A 
13 * 


150 DOMINIC. 

serious case of nervous fever. I will do my 
best to relieve the old gentleman, but most 
depends upon patient and careful nursing. 
Are you willing to undertake this heavy duty 
alone?” 

Yes, I will, to the best of my ability,” 
replied Dominic. “ Herr Friedmeier is my 
best friend. He has treated me like a father, 
and I will show him all the gratitude of a 
son.” 

“ Good, very good ; I am satisfied,” said 
the doctor. “ Give me your attention, then ; 
I will tell you what it is necessary for you to 
do. My directions must be obeyed to the 
letter; any mistake, any delay, might be fol- 
lowed by the most serious consequences.” 

Dominic listened attentively. The skillful 
and prudent physician gave him the most 
accurate instructions, which he desired Dom- 
inic to repeat, in order to be assured that he 
had been perfectly understood. The young 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I51 

man answered every question clearly and 
without hesitation. The physician nodded 
his satisfaction. 

“Well, I am satisfied on this point,” he 
said. “ We will both do our duty faithfully, 
and leave the rest to God.” 

“ Do you think Herr Friedmeier’s condition 
dangerous ?” asked Dominic, anxiously. 

“Yes; so dangerous that I can scarcely 
venture to conjecture the issue of this at- 
tack,” replied the doctor. “ My skill can do 
but little ; I repeat it, careful nursing is the 
great need, after all.” 

“ That shall not be wanting !” Dominic re- 
plied, with such ardent determination that 
the doctor could not doubt the strength of 
his purpose. 

“ We must hope for the best, then,” said 
he, pressing the young man’s hand. “ With 
God’s blessing, all may be better than at 
present seems likely. Do not by any means 


52 


DOMINIC. 


let the patient know that I consider his situa- 
tion critical, as it might agitate him. An 
equable, composed and cautious deportment 
will be the best possible aid to my treatment. 
And may God keep you and give you 
strength for the labor you have undertaken ! 
To-morrow, if not sooner, I will come again.” 

The days that followed were a serious pro- 
bation to Dominic. Not for an hour, even at 
night, dared he leave his patient; no soft 
sleep refreshed his burning eyelids ; no walk 
in the open air brought the roses to his pale 
cheeks. Night after night found him still by 
the bedside of his sick friend, who had en- 
tirely lost consciousness and the power of 
thought, constantly raving in the wild dreams 
of delirium. To quiet and compose him was 
a difficult task for Dominic. There were mo- 
ments of alarm and anxiety, when he feared 
that he could no longer control the rising tide 
of these feverish phantasies; but piously 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I53 

raising his thoughts to heaven, he drew thence 
new strength for the task; and the tender, 
affectionate words he whispered in the sick 
man’s ear — loving words of the Saviour of 
the world — though incomprehensible to his 
mind, succeeded with magnetic power in 
bringing peace, or at least repose, to the 
weary and disturbed spirit wandering, like 
the will-of-the-wisp, through the regions of 
fevered dreams. Then would follow a quar- 
ter, or at most a half hour, of comparative 
quiet, when Dominic would try to renew his 
strength by a light, half slumber; but the 
slightest motion of the sick man was enough 
to awaken him and recall him to watchful- 
ness. 

When, at morning, the daylight first stole 
faintly through the window-panes, the patient 
was usually more quiet, and would sink into 
a kind of stupor, which lasted some hours ; 
but this time, instead of giving Dominic 


154 


DOMINIC. 


leisure for rest, brought him new labors. 
It was necessary not only to nurse his friend, 
but to provide for his wants. The old man 
possessed nothing, nor did Dominic ; and the 
money to defray the expenses of his illness 
must be earned day by day. So Dominic 
went from the sick bed to the writing-table, 
and though often he could scarcely keep his 
eyes open from exhaustion, he did not leave 
it until the work of the day was completed. 
Interrupted perhaps a hundred times in a 
morning, whether called to the sick bed by a 
moan, or going to administer medicine, or to 
render some of those many little kind offices 
needed every moment by the patient; still, 
neither wearied nor discouraged, he constantly 
returned to his work until it was finished. 
And from that moment he devoted himself 
again entirely to his sick friend, soothing him 
by holding his hot and restless hands, refresh- 
ing his burning forehead with cooling appli- 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I55 

cations, and in every way taxing his strength 
and his ingenuity to afford all possible relief 
to the beloved invalid. 

Three full weeks passed in this manner. 
To Dominic they seemed like three centuries. 
His strength was almost exhausted ; his eyes 
were sunken and encircled with dark rings 
from loss of sleep ; his cheeks were thin and 
pale, and he could scarcely stand. The kind 
physician, who visited his patient every day, 
began to look very closely at the young man, 
and sometimes gave expression to his thoughts 
by gravely shaking his head. 

“ Hum ! I think it is enough now,” said he 
one evening on paying a rather late visit, 
having contrived to feel Dominic’s pulse un- 
noticed by him when he shook hands with 
him. Some hundred pulsations in a minute ! 
We must put a stop to this.” 

So saying, he approached the sick bed and 
looked long and attentively at his patient. 


156 DOMINIC. 

Herr Friedmeier lay with closed eyds, breath- 
ing more quietly than he had done for a long 
time, and apparently sleeping. Drops of 
perspiration stood upon his forehead. 

“ How long has he been lying so, Domi- 
nic ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ For two hours, Herr Doctor. He has 
been tolerably quiet all day. Toward even- 
ing, for the first time, he began to talk a little 
wildly, but not so loud nor so violently as be- 
fore ; then, all at once, he lay quite still, and 
directly turned on his side and fell asleep.” 

“Well, my dear Dominic, at last I may 
venture to hope that our patient will recover. 
I trust that Death, for this time, is robbed of 
his prey ! The force of the fever is broken, 
the blood flows more regularly, and this gen- 
tle perspiration is a very favorable symptom. 
I am convinced that our old friend will be 
quite conscious to-morrow.” 

A ray of joy lit up Dominic’s eyes. He 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I57 

started up, seized the doctor’s hand and 
pressed it to his heart and lips. 

“ I thank God ! Oh, doctor, how happy you 
have made me ! ” he exclaimed, with difficulty 
restraining the ardor of his feelings and sup- 
pressing his voice, so as not to disturb the 
restorative sleep of the patient. “ Dear, dear 
doctor, you have done wonders ! how shall I 
find words to thank you ? ” 

“Do not seek them, my friend,”. returned 
the kind physician, smiling, yet deeply moved. 
“ It is not I, but you, under God, who have 
done wonders. Without your self-sacrificing 
care, in spite of all my remedies, the old gen- 
tleman would have died. But of this another 
time. For the present I order you to lie 
down and sleep all night — to sleep until 
broad daylight ; do you understand ? ” 
Dominic looked up in alarm. 

“Impossible!” he said. “Who would 

watch by him ?'* 

14 


158 


DOMINIC. 


I will take care of that ! Now go to bed. 
I will send a nurse, who, now that the crisis 
is past, can take your place. You may rest 
easy. Herr Friedmeier will not need you to- 
night.” 

“ But,” said Dominic, anxiously, for he 
remembered that he had no means of paying 
the nurse — “ but, Herr Doctor, that will be an 
expense, and — ” 

“ No matter for the expense ; that is not to 
be considered now,” replied the doctor, per- 
emptorily. “ I command you to sleep to- 
night, and now make no further opposition. 
In ten minutes the nurse will be here, and to- 
morrow morning I shall learn whether you 
have obeyed my directions. If you have not 
done so, we are friends no longer. Good- 
night.” 

Without waiting to hear any further remon- 
strances, the physician left. 

Forgetting everything else, Dominic, when 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. I59 

he found himself alone with the unconscious 
invalid, gave himself up to the delight of the 
hopes with which the doctor’s words had in- 
spired him. He sank on his knees by the 
side of his friend, and amid tears of joy 
raised his heart in pious thanksgivings to the 
Throne of Grace. 

He was still kneeling there when, about a 
quarter of an hour after the doctor’s depart- 
ure, the promised nurse entered the room — 
an elderly woman with a very pleasant and 
friendly countenance, that made a favorable 
impression on Dominic. He returned her 
greeting, made some remarks to her about the 
patient’s condition, and found that she had 
already learned all from the doctor. Still, he 
could not make up his mind to yield to her 
his seat by the sick bed — the chair on which 
he had passed so many long nights. Seeing 
him disposed to remain at his post, the nurse 
said, politely. 


i6o 


DOMINIC. 


“ I beg your pardon, but I have received 
the strictest orders from the doctor, and he 
will be very much displeased if they are 
treated with the least neglect. He told me 
that you must sleep, and I can see myself how 
necessary it is for you to do so. Go, then, to 
rest! You can surely see that our patient 
does not need you.” 

“ But if he wakes ?” 

Then I am here I Pray have no anxiety. 
Lie down on the sofa, for a while at least ; it 
will surely do you good 1 ” 

Her gentle persuasions soon overcame 
Dominic’s unwillingness. He might rest for 
an hour or two ; he would be at hand if there 
should be occasion for his services. 

“Well, then, for a little while,” said he; 
“ but I depend upon you to call me at once 
if anything particular should happen.” 

“ I promise you,” replied the woman, in a 
tone which set Dominic’s mind quite at rest. 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. l6l 


He went into the next room and extended 
his weary limbs on the sofa, intending only 
to allow himself a short repose. But the 
doctor was better aware than himself how en- 
tirely exhausted he was. It was not five 
minutes before his heavy eyelids closed, and 
ten minutes later he slept as one only can 
sleep who for three weeks has enjoyed but a 
few occasional moments of broken and dis- 
turbed slumber. In half an hour the nurse 
approached him with a light and stood look- 
ing at him with kindly compassion. 

“ Poor young man ! ” she said, softly, to her- 
self ; “ sleep will do you good, and you shall 
enjoy it comfortably. How pale you look ! 
Only sleep, and that you may not take 
cold—” 

With a very careful hand, not to awaken 
him, she spread a ’ warm cover over him, 
breathed a silent prayer for him and left the 

room with cautious tread, closing the door 
14 • li 


DOMINIC. 


162 

behind her, lest any sound should disturb 
him. 

The night passed in perfect silence, and the 
morning sun was shining brightly in at the 
window before Dominic awoke from his 
sound and heavy sleep. He sprang up 
alarmed. He had to pause for a moment to 
collect his thoughts before he could remem- 
ber what had taken place the day before. 
Then he went quickly toward the other room, 
opened the door cautiously and stepped in, 
fully intending to reproach the nurse for 
not having awakened him. But the words 
died away upon his lips. The sick man 
raised his eyes, looked up with a feeble ex- 
pression indeed, but with entire conscious- 
ness, saw the slight figure of his young friend, 
and held out his trembling hand to him with 
an affectionate smile. 

“ Dominic, my child,” he said, with an 


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KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. 163 

effort, “ the fever has left me, and my reason 
has returned.” 

The youth uttered a joyful cry, fell down 
on his knees by the bed, and covered the old 
man’s wasted hand with tears and kisses. 
His beloved friend was restored — saved from 
the grave into which he had seemed about to 
pass, and the long-concealed sunshine of joy 
once more lighted up that humble dwelling. 

Yes, bright and clear was its light, not only 
on this first day, but also for many days after, 
while the convalescence of the old man pro- 
gressed, slowly indeed, but surely, and so 
regularly as to forbid any fear of relapse. 
Little by little, as he gained strength, Herr 
Friedmeier learned all that Dominic had done 
for him. The physician told him of it, and 
tears of tender emotion rose to the old man’s 
eyes as he heard of the youth’s faithful care, 
his unwearied watchfulness and his admirable 
patience. 


164 


DOMINIC. 


“ Oh, the good, true, noble heart ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “How richly has he repaid the 
little kindness I have been able to show him ! 
But for him my lamp of life would have been 
extinguished ; but for him I should never 
again have seen the sun nor the stars ! He 
has wrestled with Death for me ; and see, his 
love has conquered ! And why should he 
love me ? What have I done to deserve such 
faithful affection? So very little that it is 
scarcely worth mentioning. But this is the 
blessing of the Lord: sow a single grain and 
you will reap an hundred-fold. Do a kind- 
ness, and however small it may be, he will 
repay it a thousand times over.” 

“Would to God all men thought and acted 
like this pair ! ” thought the doctor as he de- 
scended the steep staircase to go and visit his 
other patients. “We should have heaven 
upon earth, and live like our first parents in 
Paradise. But, alas ! benevolence and grati- 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. l6$ 

tude are fast disappearing from the world, 
where selfishness reigns supreme, and every 
man seeks his own advantage, careless of his 
fellow-creatures. But it is a pity for that 
young Dominic. With all his knowledge 
and fine qualities, what is to become of him ? 
I must talk to Friedmeier about that. Some- 
thing must be done for him. Errand-boy in 
a printing-office, and the youth knows enough 
to teach many a professor ! That should not 
be, and I must see whether something cannot 
be done.” 

While the doctor was thinking of Dominic 
with so much concern, Herr Friedmeier’s 
fatherly affection meanwhile resting upon him, 
the young man himself was sorely oppressed 
with care. His happiness in his friend’s re- 
covery was indeed great, but that could not 
prevent the painful facts of their position from 
making themselves felt. It was the want of 
money that caused Dominic’s anxieties — a 


DOMINIC. 


1 66 

want which his utmost exertions could no 
longer supply. Herr Friedmeier’s illness 
had exhausted all Dominic’s earnings ; and 
now the doctor had prescribed, to restore his 
strength, good wine and generous, nourish- 
ing food. These must be obtained ; but how? 
He had but a few groschen — not enough for 
one day — and to-morrow, another day, and 
then another, and yet another, and each as it 
came must be provided for. 

What was to be done ? 

Dominic thought of Herr Kummerlein, but 
unfortunately he had gone on a long journey. 
He could not go to the doctor, for he was 
already deeply enough indebted to him, and 
Dominic could not think without some dread 
of the sum that must one day be paid. 
Herr Mehlhuber was not wealthy ; other 
friends poor Dominic had not ; and seeing no 
way out of his difficulties, he was a prey to the 
deepest dejection, until something suddenly 


KINDNESS BRINGS ITS REWARD. 16/ 

occurred to him which would afford relief, at 
least for the time. 

“ It must be done ! Surely I am justified 
in this !” he cried as he left the room under 
pretext of having to attend to some business. 




VI. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

T T 7HEN Dominic left the room of Herr 
Friedmeier to the great perplexity of 
the old gentleman, he went as quickly as pos- 
sible to his own little apartment in Herr 
Kummerlein’s house, opened his chest, took 
out the pocket-book he had picked up on the 
road, weighed it in his hand and looked at it 
thoughtfully for a minute or two. 

“ It must be done ! ” he said to himself 
“ For myself, I would never have touched a 
farthing of this money, but for my friend, my 
father, I cannot hesitate. Besides, what I use 
out of it I can, by diligence and economy, re- 
place, and I will never rest till it is done. 

168 



AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 169 

Yes, it must be done! And were I to meet 
the owner to-morrow, I could tell him, with- 
out blushing, how I had used a part of his 
property.” 

The necessity of supplying his old friend’s 
wants fully overcame Dominic’s scruples. 
He put the carefully-preserved treasure reso- 
lutely into his pocket, and set off to go back 
to Herr Friedmeier. On the way he pur- 
chased a flask of good old wine, and some 
wholesome and strengthening viands. The 
money with which he paid for these was pre- 
sented with a trembling hand, for it was not 
his own. But so it must be. He repressed 
the feeling of aversion that rose within him 
at the act with the reflection : 

It is only borrowed ; one day I will repay 
it.” 

With this comforting thought he turned 
away from the shop door and hurried along 
the street. But scarcely had he gone a hun- 


15 


I/O DOMINIC. 

dred paces when suddenly he stopped and 
turned pale. His gaze, full of the utmost 
consternation, rested upon the face of a man 
who was approaching him with slow step 
and bowed head. The man was wan; his 
eyes had lost their fire; his hair was gray 
and his figure bent, yet Dominic instantly 
recognized the owner of the pocket-book / 

What a meeting ! Now, at the very hour, 
almost within the minute, when Dominic had 
for the first time disturbed the little treasure ! 
He stood still, trembling and dizzy; every- 
thing seemed to grow dark before him, and 
he was obliged to lean against a post for sup- 
port. 

“ What am I to do ? ” he thought, his heart 
throbbing violently. 

“ Give up the pocket-book and acknow- 
ledge the truth? Trust to this stranger’s 
generosity ? Or shall I be silent and let him 
pass on, and trouble myself no more about 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 171 

it ? ” Dominic’s resolution wavered for a little 
while, driven like a little boat upon a stormy 
sea. 

Was this indeed the right, person? If it 
was he, how altered since the time when the 
youth had seen him on the road ! Perhaps 
it was another man, an utter stranger, who 
bore a striking resemblance to the owner of 
the money. Dominic looked closely at him 
as he came slowly nearer and nearer, and he 
could no longer doubt. It was the very man, 
much altered, it is true, by years and by ill 
health, yet still the same person he had as- 
sisted in setting up his carriage. 

Arrived at the spot where the young man 
stood, the stranger paused for an instant and 
glanced at his pale countenance, but imme- 
diately turned indifferently away. The look 
increased the young man’s excitement; still 
he was sufficiently master of his thoughts to 
observe that the stranger had not only not 


172 DOMINIC. 

recognized him, but that he already appeared 
unaware of his existence. 

The man passed on without paying any 
further attention to him. But Dominic must 
instantly decide what to do. A few minutes’ 
delay, and the stranger would be lost amid 
the crowd that thronged the street, and he 
might never meet him again. Collecting him- 
self with an effort, he followed him with the 
intention of at least not losing sight of him. 

What should he do ? 

Ten times over he resolved to follow the 
man, and to give up the money at once, and 
as often the pale face of old Herr Friedmeier 
rose before him and kept him back. If he 
put this money out of his power, how should 
he provide for his friend’s restoration to 
health ? The man who was walking slowly 
on before him, coughing and breathing with 
so much difficulty, scarcely seemed to need 
the money ; his clothing proved him to be at 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 173 

least comfortably off, if not wealthy, and his 
life appeared to hang by a thread. If he 
should die, who would inquire for the pocket- 
book ? And even were he to live, and to live 
a long time, what difference would it make? 

Dominic was certain he had not recognized 
him, and would never know that he was the 
person who had found the money. 

Yes, he could it, but he did not. At 
the door of a large mansion the stranger 
stopped to rest, leaned upon his stick and 
drew a long, deep breath, and then entered 
the house. A waiter stepped forward to as- 
sist him. The gentleman, who appeared 
scarcely able to walk, accepted the servant’s 
arm, and thus supported, went toward the 
staircase leading to the upper story. A turn 
in the staircase hid him for an instant from 
Dominic, but that instant fixed his resolution. 
He followed hastily, and as the waiter stepped 

forward to open a door, he addressed the 
15 * 


174 


DOMINIC. 


stranger, and in a voice half choked with agi- 
tation requested a few minutes' hearing. The 
voice of conscience had prevailed. Dominic 
preferred to endure anything rather than 
know that he had acted dishonorably. 

The gentleman languidly raised his head 
and looked at Dominic with some surprise. 

What do you want w’ith me ? ” he said. 
“ Who are you ?” 

“ I will tell you, sir, if you will have the 
goodness to listen to me for a few minutes,” 
replied Dominic. “ I entreat you most earn- 
estly, sir ! ” 

The young man’s polished manner, con- 
trasting so strangely with the poverty of his 
dress, decided the stranger, reluctant as he 
appeared at first, to yield to his wish. 

“ Come in, then,” said he. “ But wait until 
I have made myself a little comfortable. I 
am much fatigued, and need a little rest. Sit 
down.” 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I75 

He pointed to a seat in one corner of the 
large, magnificently-furnished apartment, and 
without taking any further notice either of 
Dominic or the waiter, who instantly with- 
drew, he called, “ John ! ” 

A side-door opened, and an old domestic 
in a rich livery entered with a quick but 
almost noiseless tread. He took his master’s 
hat and stick, helped him to remove his coat 
and to put on a handsome wrapper, then sup- 
ported him to an arm-chair by the window, 
assisted him to sit down, drew a table to his 
side and poured out a glass of wine, which 
the invalid sipped slowly, almost drop by 
drop. 

Several minutes passed thus, and Dominic 
had time to look about him. Everything in 
the room indicated great wealth. A half- 
open casket, standing on a secretary, Dominic 
perceived with wonder to be nearly full of 
gold coins ; another which was near it shone 


176 


DOMINIC. 


with jewels. Both this and the adjoining 
room, of which he had a glimpse through the 
open door, were splendidly furnished. There 
were articles of the most costly varieties of 
wood; soft, rich carpets, silken curtains, oil- 
paintings on the walls, and mirrors reaching 
from the floor to the ceiling, and set in broad 
gilt frames. Dominic could not but compare 
these apartments with the humble home of 
Herr Friedmeier. What a contrast ! Here, 
all pomp, magnificence, profusion of costly 
materials ; there, scarcely the necessaries of 
life, and such as there was of the poorest de- 
scription. And he must give up to the pos- 
sessor of all this wealth the little sum of 
money that would be of so great use to his 
beloved friend, while here it would scarcely 
be noticed at all. What were five hundred 
thalers to a man apparently rolling in wealth ? 
Dominic could not repress a sigh as these 
thoughts passed through his mind and filled 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I// 

him with anguish. Nevertheless, whatever 
might be the case, poor or rich, the man must 
receive his own, and Dominic’s conscience 
must be relieved of its burden. A good con- 
science was to him the greatest of treasures, 
and he knew that Herr Friedmeier would ap- 
prove of his conduct when he should tell 
him about it. 

But his long-drawn sigh appeared to have 
recalled the stranger’s attention to him. 

“Ah, I remember!” he said, faintly, drain- 
ing the last drops from his glass. “John!” 

The servant listened respectfully. 

“There is a young man, John,” continued 
his master. “ Ask him what he wants. Some 
money, perhaps ; inquire, and give it to him, 
and let him go. I do not want to be dis- 
turbed.” 

Dominic felt the hot blood rush to his 
cheeks. The man’s supposition that he had 

intruded upon him to beg roused his indigna- 
M 


178 DOMINIC. 

tion. But the stranger was evidently very 
ill ; perhaps he had often been deceived and 
cheated, and had therefore become suspicious. 

Conscious of his integrity of purpose, and 
knowing very well that a few words would be 
enough to make it clear, Dominic repressed 
his indignation. 

The old servant approached him. 

“You heard, sir,” he said, in a low, cour- 
teous tone ; “ have you any request to make 
of Herr Vansteffen? Speak freely. My 
good master may seem cold and distant, but 
he never lets an unfortunate man leave his 
house without relief.” 

Dominic colored up again, but not from 
displeasure. The gentle, sincere and friendly 
manner of the old man left no room for that. 

“No,” he replied, rising from his seat; 
“ though poor, I am no beggar. On the con- 
trary, I have something to leave with Herr 
Vansteffen.” 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I79 

“I will take charge of it and deliver it to 
him.” 

“ Excuse me, but I must hand it to him 
myself,” replied Dominic with modest 
obstinacy. 

The servant hesitated and shook his head. 

“ Herr Vansteffen has some little peculiari- 
ties. He does not like to have strangers ap- 
proach him ; you had much better entrust me 
with your errand, if possible.” 

“ What does he want, then ? What is it ?” 
asked Herr Vansteffen, in an irritated manner, 
from his seat by the window. “ Give him 
whatever hq, asks for, John, and do let him 
go ! I want quiet.” 

“You shall have it, sir!” replied Dominic, 
again somewhat excited, going with a reso- 
lute step toward the window, and standing 
directly before the gentleman. “You shall 
have quiet; I will not intrude any longer 
upon you ; only permit me to return to you 


i8o 


DOMINIC. 


something that you lost several years ago. 
Do you see this pocket-book ? It is yours. 
I found it on the road, just where I had 
helped you to set up your carriage, which had 
been overturned. There were five hundred 
thalers in it, and I have kept it from that day 
until this, hoping that I should rneet you 
somewhere again. There are two thalers 
wanting to the sum, and I beg pardon for 
having taken them to buy some strengthen- 
ing food for a sick friend. Here is what I 
have bought : this flask of wine and these two 
tin cases. Take all, and if you will be so 
kind as to have a little patience with me, I 
will repay the money I have spent ; only par- 
don me for having done so ! Nothing could 
have tempted me but that my poor old friend 
needs these things so much. I hope and 
pray you will not take me for a thief ! ” 

Dominic uttered these last words with tears 
in his eyes. Herr Vansteffen had allowed him 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. l8l 

to speak without interruption, and was gazing 
at him as if he had been an apparition. 

John,” said he, at length — '‘John, do you 
hear this ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the servant; “an hon- 
orable young man ! ” 

“A wonder, John, a wonder!” Herr Van- 
steffen continued, looking by turns at Domi- 
nic, at the pocket-book and at the flask of 
wine and the tin boxes which the young man 
had placed on the table beside him. “ It is 
my pocket-book ; I recognize it. Count the 
money, John.” 

The servant obeyed, and found the amount 
of the notes just as Dominic had stated. “All 
right,” he said. 

“A wonder, John, , a Phenix!” repeated 
Herr Vanstefifen. “ This is good I ” 

His eyes, usually morose and gloomy in 
their expression, were fixed upon Dominic 

with a look of surprise and of almost benevo- 
16 


DOMINIC. 


182 

lent interest. He appeared about to say 
something friendly to the youth, when sud- 
denly the ray of kindly light upon his coun- 
tenance passed away, and his look was darker 
than before. 

“ Oh yes, I understand ; it is clear enough ! ” 
he muttered, turning with a look of aversion 
away from Dominic. “An honest action 
done for effect. No doubt intended to sur- 
prise me and secure so much the larger re- 
ward ! Fool that I was to believe for an in- 
stant in disinterested virtue ! Well, young 
man, how much do you charge for your 
hon-est-yf” 

Dominic stood amazed and confounded, 
for the cruel suspicion wounded him most 
deeply. His conscience told him that he had 
acted fairly and uprightly, and now to be re- 
warded with this insult ; it was too much ! 

“ Herr Vansteffen,” he replied, with great 
effort controlling his agitation, “ I have ex- 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 183 

pected nothing from you ; I wanted nothing ; I 
ask nothing but your pardon for having taken 
two thalers from the money when driven to it 
by the privations of a sick and aged friend. 
Here is the worth of that small amount which 
I borrowed from you. If you reproach me 
with yielding to that temptation, I must endure 
your reproof ; but your suspecting me of un- 
worthy motives is most unjust. May God 
forgive you for it ! I leave you ; but you will 
see me once again, when I bring back to you 
the two thalers I owe you. Until then, fare- 
well!” 

Without another look either at Herr Van- 
steffen or at the servant, Dominic hastily left 
the room. He was called upon to return, but 
he either did not or would not hear. He 
felt himself insulted. With pale cheeks and 
eyes full of tears, he hurried down the steps 
and out of the house, to go and confide his 
grief and irritation to his old friend. 


DOMINIC. 


I 84 

“Why, Dominic, what is this? tell me, 
what is the matter?” exclaimed a powerful 
voice at the instant that Dominic, hurrying out 
of the house, came in rather sudden contact 
with the tall, strong man to whom the voice 
belonged, and who caught him in his arms. 
“You look as though you were beside your- 
self! What is it, my boy ?” 

“Herr Mehlhuber! is it you?” answered 
Dominic, seizing his old friend’s hand. “ I 
have been shamefully treated in return for my 
good intentions I I did not deserve such 
an insult 1 ” 

“But what is it? Tell me how it hap- 
pened, my son!” urged Mehlhuber. “I 
am here, and if any one has injured you, 
he will have to answer to me for it. Out 
with it, then, and let me know what has 
passed.” 

Dominic composed himself, and related all 
the circumstances as calmly as he could. 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 185 

“ Eh ! well, we shall see ! ” exclaimed Mehl- 
huber, wrathfully, on hearing of the insult his 
young friend had received. Now, my boy, 
we will settle with the brute. Fortunately, I 
have money with me, and if you wish it, I 
will go up and give the churl his two thalers, 
get the wine and the boxes, and pay him a 
compliment for you which he will be likely to 
remember. Shall I do it?” 

“ Indeed I would be very glad. Father 
Mehlhuber,” replied Dominic, quickly. “ Herr 
Friedmeier can have the food he needs so 
much, and I will not owe anything to Herr 
Vansteffen. I will pay you the money as 
soon as I can, be sure of that.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” growled the kind old carrier. 
“ As if I had not always a few thalers to spare 
for a good friend ! I am only vexed with 
you, boy, for not having told me before of 
your wants. But now wait here for a few 
minutes; I will arrange matters with Mon- 


DOMINIC. 


1 86 

sieur Vansteffen, and then we will go together 
to friend Friedmeier. I intended to visit him 
to-day.” 

With a heavy step Herr Mehlhuber entered 
the house, ascended the staircase and knocked 
at the door to which Dominic had directed 
him. Without waiting for “ Come in,” he 
opened the door and crossed the room to 
where Herr Vansteffen was sitting in his arm- 
chair gazing at this new visitor with unlimited 
astonishment. John, who was standing be- 
hind him, was no less surprised. 

“ Here, Herr Vansteffen,” said Mehlhuber, 
in his abrupt manner, ^‘here are the two 
thalers that are wanted to make up the 
amount, in that pocket-book. My friend 
Dominic sends them to you by me, and he is 
now out of your debt. I ask to be permitted 
to take away with me that flask of wine and 
those two boxes. For the rest, when you 
have to do with an honest man do not insult 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. iS/ 

him in return for good services rendered you ! 
And so good-bye.” 

Thus saying, Mehlhuber turned on his heel 
and marched toward the door. But before he 
could reach it, a figure slipped past him, locked 
the door and took out the key ; at the same 
moment he heard the word Stop ! ” loudly 
uttered by the gentleman in the arm-chair. 

What does this mean ? ” asked Mehlhuber, 
with an angry look at the old servant who had 
prevented his exit. Do you mean to keep 
me here by force ? Take care how you act ! 
Old Mehlhuber does not understand such 
jokes, and he has some strength yet. Open 
that door, if you please.” 

‘‘Do not be angry, my dear sir,” said John, 
imploringly, and in the most friendly tone. 
“ Herr Vansteffen only wishes to say a few 
words to you, and if you will listen to him, 
you will not regret it. It is with regard to 
your young friend, who left us too quickly.” 


i88 


DOMINIC. 


“ Yes, very naturally. How could he stay 
where he was insulted and treated with scorn 
in return for his honesty?” 

A misunderstanding ; indeed it was ! ” re- 
plied John, very gently. “ Let us explain it 
to you, sir.” 

“ We need no explanations ; we have done 
our duty, and that is enough. Open the door 
and let me out, or — ” 

A trembling hand was laid on Mehlhuber’s 
shoulder. Herr Vansteffen had left his seat 
and had approached the excited man. 

“ I am ill, and my servant is an old man. 
You see there is nothing to fear from us,” he 
said, quietly, but earnestly. “ Stay a little 
while. I must speak to you. I am very 
anxious to learn more about your young 
friend. I beg of you stay ! ” 

The tone and manner of the sick man 
overcame Mehlhuber’s resistance. 

“ Well, then, I will stay,” he replied, more 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 189 

mildly. “ But not another word against 
Dominic. He has not deserved it ! ” 

“ I know I was unjust, and I am ready to 
ask his pardon,” said Herr Vansteffen. 

“Ah, that is quite another thing, my dear 
sir ! ” exclaimed Mehlhuber, now entirely 
satisfied. “ Why did you not say so at first ? 
We might have been spared all this ill-feel- 
ing. Shall I call him ? He is waiting for me 
below.” 

“Not yet; I must first hear. You are 
well acquainted with the young man ? ” 

“ Most certainly I am. I know him to 
possess the most faithful, grateful and honest 
heart in the world. True as gold, I tell 
you ! ” 

“ Very good ; I am delighted to hear this,” 
replied Herr Vansteffen. “ Send your friend 
home, and come back and talk to me a while ; 
will you be so kind as to do this ? ” 

“ Quite willingly, if it is any satisfaction to 


DOMINIC. 


190 

you,” answered the good carrier. I will 
give Dominic the flask and the boxes and be 
with you again directly.” 

It was done accordingly. Dominic went 
home and Herr Mehlhuber returned to the 
invalid. Herr Vansteflen questioned him 
closely, until he had told him all Dominic’s 
circumstances to the smallest particular. He 
seemed deeply impressed by the recital, es- 
pecially by the fact that Dominic had so per- 
severingly refused to follow the advice of his 
friends, and to appropriate to his own necessi- 
ties the money he had found. He immediately 
expressed a wish to become acquainted with 
Herr Friedmeier, and Mehlhuber proposed 
that they should visit him together. 

“ We will go at once,” said Herr Vansteflen. 

I am anxious to ask Dominic’s pardon for 
my injustice ; and besides, I have something 
to say to his fatherly friend. John, the car- 
riage.” 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I9I 

Five minutes later a handsome carriage was 
before the door ; Herr Vansteffen, Herr Mehl- 
huber and John stepped into it, and they set 
off at a rapid pace for the remote court in 
which Herr Friedmeier resided. It was not 
without difficulty that Herr Vansteffen climbed 
the many flights of stairs to the high garret 
room, but at last he stood beside the old man’s 
bed and extended his hand to him, greeting 
Dominic at the same time with a friendly 
nod. 

“ Pardon ’ me, my dear young man ! ” he 
said. ‘‘ I sincerely and earnestly entreat your 
forgiveness and offer you my thanks for the 
return of my pocket-book. Not that I needed 
the money it contained — no, I had not even 
missed it — ^but with it you have restored to 
me my confidence in human rectitude, which 
I had long lost. I thank you from my heart ; 
and now, tell me what I can do for you.” 

“ Oh, nothing ! I am quite satisfied since 


192 


DOMINIC. 


you no longer suspect me unjustly,” returned 
Dominic, in his open, confiding manner. “ I 
need nothing, and as soon as Herr Friedmeier 
is entirely restored to health I shall be very 
happy.” 

“ Well, I see I must find some other way to 
your confidence,” replied Herr Vanstefien, 
smiling. “Herr Friedmeier, would it be too 
much exertion for you to converse a little 
while with me ? ” 

The old gentleman replied that he was 
quite able and willing to grant his visitor’s 
request. The rest left the room, except John, 
who, at a sign from his master, remained. 
The conversation lasted more than an hour. 
When, at last, Dominic and Herr Mehlhuber 
re-entered the room, they found Herr Fried- 
meier in a state of joyful excitement, though 
his eyes were filled with tears. He extended 
his arms to Dominic and said, 

“ God is very good to me, as he always is 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I93 

to those who love him ! Herr Vansteffen in- 
tends to act very kindly to you ; I too have 
to thank him.” 

“No, no, my friend!” interrupted Van- 
steffen. “ It is for my own benefit that I de- 
sire you to share my home. Yes, my dear 
Dominic, your good friend and I have agreed 
not to separate again, and I hope you will 
unite in this compact.” 

Dominic looked with astonishment at Herr 
Friedmeier. “ It is so, Dominic,” said the 
latter, “ and if you love me, make no opposi- 
tion. As soon as my returning strength per- 
mits we are to remove to a fine estate which 
Herr Vansteffen owns in the vicinity of the 
city.” 

“ But if we accept this kind invitation, will 
we not give Herr Vansteffen reason again to 
believe that we are led by interested motives ?” 

“ No, Dominic, I have learned to think bet- 
ter of you,” returned Herr Vansteffen, warmly, 
ir N 


194 


DOMINIC. 


“ I repeat it : you will do me a great kind- 
ness by consenting to come to my house ; and 
I do hope that you may learn to feel for me 
at least a little of that filial love with which 
you have hitherto regarded your older friends. 
Let me give you my history in a few words. 
Though rich in money and possessions, I am 
poor in the treasures of the heart. I had a 
beloved wife, a dear son. I have them no 
more! When they were taken from me I 
made several attempts to attach some one to 
myself, to win some love that might cheer 
my loneliness, but all in vain. I was de- 
ceived, betrayed, even robbed, but never 
loved. I became embittered against all the 
world. I have lived alone for many years, 
an unbeliever in the sincerity, faithfulness, 
warmth and unselfishness of any human 
being. At last you have come to me, and I 
begin to believe that I have been unjust and 
hard in my judgment of my fellow-men, I 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I95 

esteem and respect you, Dominic ; I wish you 
could learn to feel some affection for me. It 
would be a great comfort to my lonely heart.” 

“ Oh, then,” exclaimed Dominic, with deep 
feeling, “ if you are unhappy, and if there is 
the least thing that I can do to console you, 
depend upon me. I will make every effort 
for you. Why should I not love you, since 
you are so kind to my dear old friend, as well 
as to myself?” 

He extended his hand to Herr Vansteffen, 
who pressed it with emotion. 

“ It is an agreement, then ! ” said that gen- 
tleman. “As soon as Herr Friedmeier is 
able we will go. Until that tirne, I hope I 
may be permitted to pass an hour or two 
daily in your company.” 

This, of course, was readily granted. From 
that time, Herr Vansteffen visited his new 
friends constantly. Each day they esteemed 
each other more and more highly, and Domi- 


196 DOMINIC. 

nic soon learned to treat his new friend with 
the cordiality and affection the latter so much 
desired. For Herr Vansteffen, a few days 
sufficed to change his manner sensibly. The 
faithful old servant, John, said to Dominic 
one day when they were alone together, 

“You are indeed a blessing to my master. 
He is lively again ; he jests ; he laughs, while 
for years past he has not had a friendly smile 
for any one, not even for me, though I have 
been with him from my youth. He really 
seems to have grown younger, and he owes it 
to you, for you have given him back his con- 
fidence in his fellow-creatures.” 

Dominic was happy in feeling himself use- 
ful to the lonely invalid, and the conscious- 
ness that he was so increased his affection for 
him to a still greater degree. 

Thus eight days passed away, and the phy- 
sician at last gave permission to Herr Fried- 
meier to attempt the proposed trip. Herr 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I97 

Vansteffen provided an easy carriage, and 
after a drive of two hours, they reached a 
castle, beautifully situated, and surrounded 
by fine parks and gardens, where all was pre- 
pared for the reception of the welcome guests. 
They were shown into handsome apartments, 
beautifully and comfortably furnished, and 
commanding delightful views of the surround- 
ing country. Everything was so magnificent 
that Dominic hesitated to avail himself of his 
new friend’s lavish kindness. But Herr Van- 
steffen soon overcame his scruples, and by 
tender and considerate treatment made him 
feel as much at home among his new sur- 
roundings as if he had always been accus- 
tomed to them. 

A new life commenced for Dominic. All 
his earlier years had been a continual struggle 
with poverty and privation ; now everything 
that wealth could furnish was at his command, 
and Herr Vansteffen did not rest until he 


198 DOMINIC. 

made full use of his benefits. Yet neither 
was Dominic’s character altered nor his exer- 
tions rendered less ardent. Under his old 
teacher’s guidance he still labored, as before, 
to cultivate his mind. The only difference 
his present position made was that he enjoyed 
more agreeable relaxations from study than 
he had done as a printer’s boy. Herr Van- 
steffen took special care of this. He rode 
and walked with him, made boating excur- 
sions on the large lake in the park, went 
hunting with him, and enjoyed seeing Domi- 
nic’s health and strength improved by such 
excellent exercise. For himself, so long 
bowed down by physical and mental maladies, 
he truly seemed, as old John had said, to grow 
young again with the youthful friend whom 
he loved as a son ; and a hundred times he 
blessed the hour in which they had met. 

But this friendly, wholesome intercourse 
was not to be of long duration. It soon be- 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. I99 

came evident that Herr Vansteffen’s favorable 
symptoms were but the last flickering bril- 
liancy of the flame of life. A sudden and 
severe illness prostrated him. Old Herr 
Friedmeier and Dominic tended him con- 
stantly and faithfully. His physician gave 
hopes of his recovery ; his young friend was 
very sanguine, but Herr Vansteflen, in reply 
to their assurances, only gently shook his 
head. 

“ I am near my end, Dominic, my dear 
son,” he said to him late one evening. “I 
feel that my days are numbered, but I leave 
myself peacefully in the hands of my Re- 
deemer, who has granted me the blessing I 
so little deserved — ^your affection — to brighten 
the close of my earthly life. I shall die re- 
conciled to him and to my fellow-men ; and 
to you I leave, with a thankful heart, the 
warmest blessing that a father can bestow 
upon a beloved son.” 


200 


DOMINIC. 


Dominic tried to inspire him with hopes of 
recovery, but the only answer he received was 
a slight, incredulous smile. A few days after 
the invalid fell asleep in his young friend’s 
arms, nevermore to wake in this world. His 
death was peaceful; his last look, the last 
feeble pressure of his hand, were given to the 
youth, who mourned him with sincere, affec- 
tionate grief. 

That Herr Vanstefifen had really loved him 
like a son was proved at the opening of his 
will, which was found in the pocket-book that 
Dominic had returned to him. By this will 
Dominic was made sole heir of the great 
wealth that Herr Vansteffen had left, with 
the one provision that he was to care for the 
faithful old John to the end of his life, leaving 
to that good servant his present position and 
maintenance. Dominic’s tears of gratitude 
fell upon this valuable document, which, with 
a few words, had made him a rich man. Far 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


201 


more precious to him, however, than all his 
unexpected wealth, the amount of which he 
could scarcely estimate, was the evidence 
given of the love of his departed friend. But 
Herr Friedmeier said, as he affectionately 
congratulated him, 

“ This is the reward of uprightness ! For 
him who sows in faith and in singleness of 
purpose, the Lord will bless the harvest ! ” 




VII. 

“ Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go : 

Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know.” 

^ I "^HREE or four years had passed since 
the events related in the last chapter — 
eventful and happy years for our Dominic. 
He had traveled far and wide, accompanied 
by his friend Herr Friedmeier; had visited 
Italy, Greece, Spain, France and England; 
and now, after a long absence, during which 
he had trodden both Asiatic and American 
shores, he had returned to his beautiful home 
to arrange and to enjoy the treasures of Na- 
ture and of Art which he had collected 
abroad. Herr Friedmeier, so active and 

healthy that one would scarcely believe him 
202 


DOMINIC. 203 

to have seen seventy years of life, lent his 
valuable aid in the work of arrangement, 
which was accomplished after the labor of 
two or three weeks. Dominic was now talk- ♦ 
ing of visiting his old friends in the city, 

Herr Kummerlein and Father Mehlhuber, 
when the latter quite unexpectedly appeared 
at the castle, receiving, as a matter of course, 
a cordial welcome. The old man was full 
of pleasure at this reunion after so long 
a separation, and expressed unbounded satis- 
faction at his young friend’s fine, manly ap- 
pearance ; for years and travel had matured 
our Dominic without in the least altering his 
childlike and affectionate disposition. Excel- 
lent old John, also, he greeted with a hearty 
shake of the hand. The friends passed the 
day pleasantly, and at evening sat around the 
table, cozily chatting about the various things 
that had happened since their last separation. 

But when it became Father Mehlhuber’s turn 


204 


DOMINIC. 


to speak, he shook his head and sat silent for 
a little while, his cheerful countenance quite 
beclouded. 

“ Why, my old friend, have you any bad 
news to tell us ? ” asked Dominic. I hope 
you have met with no trouble that cannot in 
some way be removed.” 

No, Dominic, my dear boy, nothing 
has happened to me, but to another, and 
the last one for whom I should have feared 
it.” 

*^Who is it? One of our friends? Not 
Herr Kummerlein, I hope ? ” 

“ No, but the Baron von Brandenstein — he 
who would have taken you under his care 
when you were a child.” 

“Something has happened to the baron! 
oh what is it ? Never, never can I forget his 
kindness to me 1 ” exclaimed Dominic, with 
painful excitement. “And his daughter Emma 
— an angel of mercy she seemed to me I What 


DOMINIC. 205 

trouble are they in? tell me, Father Mehl- 
huber!” 

“The story is not long. Perhaps you 
know that I travel frequently into the neigh- 
borhood of the baron’s estate. It happened 
that I was there about a week ago, and was 
obliged to stay over night at the village inn 
on account of some repairs to be made in my 
wagon. As usual, I inquired after the baron’s 
welfare, and heard some things that grieved 
me sorely. The host, a very worthy man, 
told me that the estate is to be sold in a fort- 
night at auction, and that at the instance of a 
wealthy usurer in the nearest town, who had 
quite unexpectedly exhibited large claims 
upon the baron, which he was not prepared 
either to pay or to prove unjust. The land- 
lord thought that there was something wrong 
about the demand — that there had been some 
foul dealings between this usurer and a cer- 
tain person whom he named.” 

18 


206 


DOMINIC. 


And who was the person ? ” asked Domi- 
nic. 

The steward of the castle ; not the one 
whose acquaintance you made ten or twelve 
years ago, but the former gardener, who had 
worked himself into the post by hypocrisy 
and flattery when the former steward died. 
It seems that the baron put too much confi- 
dence in the man, and that he was nothing 
but a miserable rogue.” 

“ But on what facts was the landlord’s opin- 
ion founded ? ” 

“ Facts ! he could not tell me any, except 
that the steward was held in bad repute among 
the people, and that he had been known to 
have considerable intercourse lately with the 
very money-lender who had forced these 
claims against the Herr Baron.” 

‘‘And what reason is there for supposing 
the claims unjust?” inquired Dominic, with 
kindling eye. 


DOMINIC. 207 

“ Only this — that the baron insists that they 
have been paid years ago by his father.” 

“ There must be receipts to show that,” ob- 
served Herr Friedmeier. 

“ That is exactly the difficulty ; the receipts 
are not to be found, while the claims are in 
the usurer’s hands in black and white,” replied 
Mehlhuber. “ The landlord tells me that the 
Herr Baron has searched every record of the 
castle thoroughly himself, opened every book 
and every paper, and found nothing looking 
at all like a receipt for these claims. And so 
his beautiful home must be sold at auction, 
just at a time, unhappily, when it will not 
bring as much as it is worth. It must have 
been so arranged by these villains, in order to 
possess themselves of a fine estate as cheaply 
as possible. The landlord says the Herr 
Baron is certainly ruined unless some miracle 
happen to save him. It seems dreadful, and 
beyond remedy.” 


208 


DOMINIC. 


“ Is this all you could learn, Father Mehl- 
huber ?” 

“ All ; but I believe more might be found 
out, if any one would examine the matter 
closely. I was sorry not to have time for it, 
but the landlord, who had never seen me be- 
fore, may perhaps not have felt free to say all 
that was on his mind.” 

“Well, then,” said Dominic, “/ have time 
enough, and I will not allow the baron to be 
turned out of his home if I can prevent it. 
I will go to-morrow to the village.” 

The friends approved of Dominic’s reso- 
lution, and expressed a desire to go with him. 
To this, however, he objected. 

“ Let me go alone,” he said. “ If two or 
three should arrive there at once, the plotters 
might suspect some design and take precau- 
tions which would render it impossible to 
expose their rascality. I hope to be able to 
win the landlord’s confidence; for the rest, I 


DOMINIC. 209 

will trust to circumstances. God, who has 
never forsaken me, can so order them as to 
aid me in this duty. The least that I can do, 
if the estate must come under the hammer, 
will be to bid the price up to its full value.” 

“And suppose it should be knocked down 
to you ?” 

“ Well, we have means to pay for it, have 
we not. Father Friedmeier?” 

“Enough to buy three such estates,” re- 
plied the old man, smiling. 

On the evening of the next day, a tall 
young man with a sunburnt face, having a 
knapsack on his shoulder and a stout stick in 
his hand, entered the village belonging to the 
estate of the Baron von Brandenstein. He 
inquired the way to the inn, and entered the 
public-room. The landlord, a comfortable- 
looking man with a red, good-humored coun- 
tenance, welcomed him pleasantly with a 

shake of his great, brawny hand. The 
18 * 0 


210 


DOMINIC. 


stranger as heartily returned his greeting and 
asked whether he could have quarters at the 
inn for a day or two. On being told that he 
could, he laid off his knapsack, hung his 
traveling-cap and walking-stick on a nail, 
called for some coffee, and by a few pleasant 
remarks made himself so much at home with 
the landlord that in five minutes they were 
seated together in a corner of the room chat- 
ting as confidentially as old acquaintances. 

Next Saturday, then, the sale takes place,” 
said the stranger, in whom our reader must 
already have recognized Dominic. “Why, 
that is the day after to-morrow.” 

“Yes, the creditor is in a hurry,” returned 
the landlord. “ He and the steward have 
taken good care to leave the baron no time to 
get out of the difficulty. The rascals ! It is 
a sin and a shame they should succeed so 
easily ! ” 

“ But how did the baron’s affairs get into 


DOMINIC. 


21 I 


such a condition ? ” asked Dominic. “ I knew 
him some years ago, and he seemed entirely 
beyond the reach of distress.” 

“Just so; everything went well with him,” 
returned the landlord, coming a little nearer 
to his young guest. “And if the good lady 
had not died in Vienna, and if the Herr Baron 
had paid a little more attention to his affairs 
here, they never could have come to such a 
pass ; but he was in great grief, and did not 
give himself any trouble about the estate. 
Then, unfortunately, the old steward died. 
The man had his faults, but he always acted 
honestly toward his master. But when the 
gardener got the situation, he stole like a mag- 
pie. We all knew it, but the trouble was that 
he managed his trickery so cunningly that no 
one could expose him. But the fact is clear 
enough ; for when he became steward, five or 
six years ago, he was not worth a farthing, 
and now he has plenty of money, while the 


212 


DOMINIC. 


baron has grown poorer. He says he has 
gained it by successful speculations. It is not 
true ! he has stolen it from his master. If any 
one could look over the account-books of the 
castle, that might be proved ; but who can do 
that ? The steward is in power at the castle ; 
and as the baron even owes him money, he 
holds his head as high as if he were lord and 
master of all around ! ” 

“ But how can the Herr Baron be indebted 
to his servants ? ” asked Dominic. 

“Easily enough. The steward sent him 
what money he required, and managed the 
accounts so as to place those sums to his own 
credit.” 

“ You say sent him the money ; did not the 
baron live at home ? ” 

“ No. Grief at the loss of his wife made 
him restless, and he traveled from one place 
to another. He lived in Vienna, in Paris, and 
sometimes in Rome. At last, a half year 


DOMINIC. 213 

ago, he was obliged to come home, because 
the steward wrote him that he had no more 
money. Until that time no one would have 
suspected the state of affairs, for the income 
of the property was sufficient to furnish the 
Herr Baron with means for traveling, if there 
had been no fraud. The news came to him 
like lightning out of a clear sky, and misfor- 
tunes, you know, don’t often come singly. 
The hard times soon reduced the value of his 
property, and then this Landsberger, the usurer, 
made his appearance with these claims, dating 
from the time of the baron’s deceased father. 
He said he had found them among some old 
papers, and as no receipts were forthcoming, 
they could not be disputed. It is certain they 
are genuine, and every one about here knows 
that the old baron had dealings with the 
father of this Landsberger; but we all sup- 
posed that everything had been settled be- 
tween them ; and now, all at once, the son 


214 DOMINIC. 

comes and demands fifty or sixty thousand 
thalers. The baron could not pay the sum ; 
the court recognized the claims, and the day 
after to-morrow the sale must take place. If 
no bidders are to be found, the estate must 
go for a trifling sum, and the Herr Baron will 
be a beggar, and even be imprisoned for debt, 
if the sale of the estate does not cover the 
demands of these two scoundrels. We all 
pity his troubles, but, alas ! not one of us can 
help him.” 

“ Perhaps aid may be nearer than we think,” 
said Dominic, earnestly. “ Where is the auc- 
tion to be held ?” 

“ Here in my house,” replied the landlord. 
“ Landsberger has engaged lodging here, and 
is coming to-morrow. The sale is to take 
place the next day at nine o’clock.” 

“ So, so ! ” said Dominic, aside, thoughtfully. 
“ He is to be here, then, and I suppose his 
good friend, the steward, will visit him.” 


DOMINIC. 


215 


“ I dare say. He has always come to the 
house when Landsberger was here, and the 
two seemed to have a great deal to say to 
each other, and careful enough they have 
always been to lock their door, that no one 
might surprise them.” 

“ Now perhaps something may be done,” 
said Dominic. “ Listen, friend. You are 
kindly disposed toward the baron, are you 
not?” 

•^ Indeed am I ! ” replied the landlord, with 
a deep sigh. “ I would give my left hand to 
help him out of his troubles ! ” 

Well, then, I will speak freely to you. I 
think it easy to be seen that the steward and 
this Landsberger have conspired together to 
ruin the baron.” 

I believe that too ; but how is it to be 
proved ? ” 

“ We may do it, if you will stand by me 
faithfully like a man, and will follow my 


2i6 


DOMINIC. 


advice,” replied Dominic, with earnestness. 
“ Can I rely upon you ? ” 

“ Certainly, most certainly. Here is my 
hand upon it.” 

“ Well, then, in a few words, we must find 
some way of overhearing these rascals when 
they are together to-morrow evening.” 

“Yes, that may be done!” exclaimed the 
landlord. “ That is a good idea, sir I They 
will suppose themselves alone, and will speak 
freely to each other. But,” he added, sud- 
denly, “ is it right ? It is hardly a fair and 
open course, my dear sir!” 

“ I think we need have no scruples,” replied 
Dominic. “ There is nothing to be done with 
cheats and deceivers but to turn their own 
weapons of cunning against themselves. 
How else could their dealings be brought to 
light?” 

“You are right, you are right! One 
must be sly with old foxes. I shall give 


DOMINIC. 217 

Landsberger the blue-room — the same that 
he has always had — so as to excite no sus- 
picion. Our preparations will be simple 
enough. We need only take the stove-pipe 
out of the chimney, so that it may be open to 
the room above. With a little contrivance, 
the stove-pipe may be made as good as a 
speaking-trumpet, and not a word can be ut- 
tered in the blue-room that we shall not hear 
in the chamber overhead.” 

“ But this must be managed so that they do 
not notice any change.” 

Trust me for that. They shall see 
nothing.” 

“ And I will take care that we have a com- 
petent witness,” said Dominic. “ Some per- 
son connected with the magistracy must be 
present to write down the conversation.” 

“Excellent!” exclaimed the landlord. 
“ Dear sir, I trust you are the person to save 
our gracious Herr Baron I I do not know 

19 


2I8 


DOMINIC. 


how it is, but I had confidence in you from 
the moment I first saw you.” 

Honest men generally recognize each 
other easily,” said Dominic, smiling. ‘‘ I hope 
our aims are all fair and just.” 

“ I hope so too, and may God help us in 
what we propose to do! But your witness. 
Where will you find him?” 

“ I hope to find that out through the baron 
himself, whom I shall visit to-morrow morn- 
ing. I have no doubt there is some magis- 
trate near who has his confidence.” 

“Yes, there is Counselor Scheller from the 
town, a very clever gentleman. . He can be 
trusted, and I think you will find him at the 
castle to-morrow.” 

“ Well, then, friend, you will attend to the 
preparations in the blue-room ; and, with the 
help of the Lord, I trust we shall succeed.” 

Thus ended the conversation. Its results 


we shall soon learn. 


DOMINIC. 219 

The following morning the landlord took 
Dominic into the blue-room to show him the 
arrangements he had made. Nothing un- 
usual could be perceived without a very close 
examination ; and on going up stairs, Dominic 
found that he could easily hear even a whis- 
per from the room below. 

“You have succeeded very well,” he said, 
coming back to the landlord. “Now I will 
make my visit to the baron, and look for 
Counselor Scheller. All that is yet needed 
is a table, a chair or two, and writing materials 
in the room above.” 

Dominic ^ hastened to the castle. Under 
the pretext of desiring to see the rooms, and 
to make some inquiries of the baron about the 
returns of the estate, in order to bid upon it 
the next morning, he was ushered by an old 
servant into the presence of the baron, who 
received him in his study. His heart throbbed 
violently as he entered, but he controlled 


220 


DOMINIC. 


himself so well that no one would have per- 
ceived any sign of unusual emotion. The 
gentleman was seated in an arm-chair by the 
table; a young lady standing beside him 
leaned affectionately on his shoulder. A dig- 
nified elderly man sat opposite him turning 
over a great pile of papers. 

Dominic recognized all three at a glance. 
The baron was not much altered from the 
time when he had first seen him by the lake 
at his childhood’s home, though his hair had 
become somewhat gray, and grief and care 
had traced some deep lines upon his face. 
The young lady could be no other than his 
daughter, Emma. Even if Dominic had not 
recognized the gentle face his memory had so 
long cherished, he might have known her by 
the little golden dove with ruby eyes, which 
she still wore — the same that he had restored 
to her in the bouquet of water-lilies. The 
old gentleman he had not seen before, but he 


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DOMINIC. 


221 


felt sure that it was the baron’s friend, Coun- 
selor Scheller. None of the party recognized 
Dominic. 

“Excuse this interruption, Herr Baron,” 
he said as calmly as he could, “ but I have not 
come to gratify an idle curiosity. It is my 
desire to bid at the sale of your property to- 
morrow morning ; and although I know that 
land does not bring its full value at present, I 
do not desire to take advantage of that cir- 
cumstance. I therefore beg you to inform me 
what the property is really worth.” 

The baron and the counselor exchanged 
glances of astonishment. 

“ Mein Herrl' said the latter, “ is it really 
your intention to bid for the estate as high as 
its real value ? ” 

“ It is indeed ! ” replied Dominic so earn- 
estly as fully to convince his hearers. The 
baron’s countenance expressed joyful surprise, 

tears stood in his daughter’s eyes, and even 
19 * 


222 


DOMINIC. 


the old counselor rubbed his hands with 
pleasure. 

“ This is very fortunate for us,” said the 
latter, candidly. “ But how, sir, does it hap- 
pen that you act so generously, so much 
against your own interests? You doubtless 
know the state of the baron’s affairs, and that 
we do not expect to realize half the value of 
the property by the sale ? ” 

“I am aware of it,” answered Dominic. 
“ I will explain my motives at a future time. 
For the present, I beg leave to waive any in- 
quiry. But one question. Will the sale of 
the estate at its full value cover all the Herr 
Baron’s indebtedness ? ” 

“Yes, fully, and more,” the counselor 
promptly replied. “If we had known that 
we could find a purchaser like yourself, things 
would not have gone so far. Now all the 
legal formalities must be complied with. But, 
sir, we have not the honor of your acquaint- 


DOMINIC. 223 

ance. Will you have the goodness to tell us 
your name ?” 

“ This also I must be allowed to keep a 
secret, as well as the whole of our present 
interview,” replied Dominic, with a smile. “ I 
can only say now that I am an old acquaint- 
ance of the Herr Baron and of the Fraulein, 
his daughter, and have a sacred duty to ful- 
fill to them.” 

The surprise of the listeners was vividly 
increased. The baron and his daughter 
looked inquiringly at Dominic, but very 
naturally failed to recognize in the fine-look- 
ing young gentleman the poor boy they had 
met by the lake. 

“ You do not remember me,” said Dominic. 
“ To-morrow all will be explained. I thank 
you for your readiness in answering my in- 
quiries. Perhaps the Herr Counselor will 
have the goodness to walk out with me and 
give me some more particular information.” 


224 


DOMINIC. 


“ Certainly, mein Herr^' replied the coun- 
selor. 

“ Permit me, then, to take my leave,” said 
Dominic, with a courteous inclination to the 
baron. The latter rose, took his hand and 
pressed it with deep emotion. 

“ Sir,” said he, there is a mystery here 
which I cannot penetrate, but your generosity 
saves me from utter ruin, and I thank you 
from the depth of my heart. May God re- 
ward you for relieving my mind of its heaviest 
burden!” 

“ God does reward ; yes, God does reward,” 
replied Dominic, his voice trembling a little, 
and turned hastily away, for his emotions 
threatened to overpower him. He had 
scarcely reached the door when a gentle hand 
was laid upon his arm, and detained him. 

“Ah, sir,” said Emma, “do not go until 
you have received my thanks. Tell me your 
name, that I may mention it in my prayers I ” 


DOMINIC. 


225 


To-morrow, to-morrow, dear young lady,” 
replied Dominic, gently. To-day recall one 
thing from the past. Think of the saying 
that once gave you so much pleasure, 

‘ Doest thou a good deed, in the deep let it go ; 

Though the fish may not see, yet the Lord will know.’ 

The Lord knows all, my dear, gracious Frau- 
lein!” 

With these words, Dominic went out, and 
Emma stood for a moment dumb with amaze- 
ment. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms 
around her father’s neck. 

“Oh, father, we are saved!” she exclaimed. 
“A feeling I cannot define assures me that 
God has sent a true friend to our aid I ” 

“Do you know, then, who he is, my 
child?” 

“ I am not certain ; I hope, and yet how 
incredible it seems ! ” replied Emma. “ Oh 
with what a rich harvest is the least grain of 

good rewarded — a grain that we cast from us 
P 


226 


DOMINIC. 


and bury in forgetfulness! Be comforted, 
father, we are saved ; and if I am not mista- ^ 
ken, a very wonderful surprise awaits us I ” 

“ I am afraid this excitement is too much 
for you, my darling,” remonstrated the baron, 

“ yet I would willingly share your pleasant 
hopes. Whatever comes, let us remember 
our confidence is in our Father, God.” 

*‘Our Father in Christ!” whispered Emma. 

Then she softly repeated to herself the old 
couplet Dominic had recalled to her mind, 
adding, 

“ Oh, if it could be that boy! I almost be- 
lieve it is ; yet how strange it appears ! But 
patience until to-morrow. I trust the morn- 
ing sun will bring us new and cheerful 
light!” 



VIII. 

A FOX TRAP. 

T T was growing dark when a fine traveling- 
carriage, drawn by post-horses, stopped 
before the inn. Dominic and the landlord 
were sitting in the house in company with a 
gentleman who had placed himself in a dark 
corner so as not to be easily recognized. 

‘^At last!” exclaimed the landlord, when 
the rattle of the wheels and the sound of the 
post-horn were heard without. “There is 
our man, the worthy, Herr Landsberger ! I 
must go out and receive him.” 

The landlord left the room, and Dominic 
went to the half-open window. 

“ Good-evening, Herr Landlord,” said a 

227 



228 


DOMINIC. 


voice without. “ Is my room in readi- 
ness?” 

“As you ordered, Herr Landsberger; the 
blue-room, as usual,” was the reply. 

“ Very good ! Is the steward of the castle 
here ? ” 

“No, Herr Landsberger.” 

“ Send for him at once, and tell him I wish 
he would be so good as to come. If he 
comes, send him to my room at once. In the 
mean while, let me have a good supper.” 

“ Very well, Herr Landsberger. Come in, 
sir, if you please.” 

The noise without gradually subsided. The 
new comer was shown to his room, the horses 
were taken from the carriage, the landlord 
was heard giving a few orders, and directly he 
came in again with an air of great satisfaction. 

“ One is in the trap,” said he, “ and the 
other will be here directly. Now, Herr 
Counselor, what are we to do next ? ” 


A FOX TRAP. 


229 


The man in the dark corner rose and came 
forward, and his sensible countenance, his 
clear sharp eyes, could be distinctly seen. 

^'We must go up stairs before the other 
fellow comes,’' he said. “ Is there a light up 
there?” 

“All is ready.” 

“ Well, then, my dear sir,” the counselor 
continued, turning to Dominic, “ we will go 
up. Our good friend the landlord will soon 
follow us.” 

Near the pipe in the upper room they found 
a table with writing materials and a lighted 
lamp upon it; a few chairs stood near, and 
they silently took their seats. The counselor 
listened a moment at the pipe, and then turned 
to Dominic with a satisfied nod. 

“ A good arrangement,” he whispered. 
“You can almost hear a breath from that 
room below. This was an excellent idea of 

yours ! ” 

20 


230 


DOMINIC. 


I hope it may have the desired result,” 
Dominic replied, in an equally low tone. 

Then both were silent, and awaited patiently 
the arrival of the steward. For half an hour 
nothing was heard. At last a heavy footfall 
sounded on the lower stairs, then a door 
closed, a key turned in its lock, and the 
counselor directly recognized the steward’s 
voice. 

It is he ! ” whispered the old gentleman. 
“ Now attention ! ” 

The landlord at this moment entered, 
saying, “ The two old foxes are together at 
last.” 

St ! ” uttered the counselor. “ Don’t talk ; 
we must be all ears.” 

They sat still and listened. For a while 
they heard nothing but the clatter of plates, 
knives and forks and glasses, and conversation 
without any especial significance. Not until 
the two had made a comfortable supper and 


A FOX TRAP. 231 

pushed aside their plates was any mention 
made of the business in hand. At last Lands- 
berger said, 

“ Well, friend steward, it is of no use to go 
around about matters. Let us speak of our 
affairs. How about the auction ? Are there 
many bidders expected ?” 

Not to my knowledge,” replied the stew- 
ard. There was, it is true, a stranger about 
here yesterday, in company with the coun- 
selor, but I do not think he will be likely to 
spoil our plans. He is staying at the inn 
here, without servants or carriage and horses ; 
a poor foot-traveler, the landlord says. We 
need have no fear of him, and no other stran- 
gers have arrived.” 

“ So much the better for you, steward,” re- 
turned Landsberger, laughing. “You get 
your property cheap! I will bid for you, 
since, of course, it will not do for you to be 
known as the purchaser ; and for that service 


232 DOMINIC. 

I ask only those receipts; you have them 
with you, I suppose?” 

“ Not so fast, Landsberger,” replied the stew- 
ard. “ The receipts are in my desk, and will 
stay there until the bargain is fulfilled and 
the estate is mine. Before that I do not give 
them up, for you are a sharp hand to deal with, 
and one cannot be too careful. We stand by 
our contract — you to give up all claims on 
the estate in consideration of twenty thousand 
thalers.” 

“ Steward, you must add ten thousand to the 
sum ! ” said Landsberger. “ What are twenty 
thousand thalers to the profit you make ? 
You receive the whole of this estate, worth, 
between ourselves, a quarter of a million, and 
you think you can put me off with a paltry 
twenty thousand. That won’t do ! ” 

“ That must do ! ” returned the steward, 
dryly. “ If it were not for me, you could not 
have made a farthing.” 


A FOX TRAP. 


233 


“Just SO. But if, instead of playing into 
your hands, I had informed the baron how 
his money was leaking out, and where he 
could find his old receipts, mein Herr Steward 
would have been sitting in jail to-night, and 
not in the blue-room here ! Without m^^you 
could do nothing; and as I have helped you 
and supported you in your plans, I must have 
my share of the profits. Under thirty thou- 
sand I go no further ! ” 

“ But this is extortion ! ” exclaimed the 
steward, angrily. “ What have you done 
more than to receive these papers from me 
and press the claims ? ” 

“And what great things have you done, 
steward?” echoed Landsberger, mockingly. 
“ Let us see. A number of years ago — some 
twenty, perhaps — the late Baron Branden- 
stein, the father of the present one, bor- 
rowed different sums of my father, to the 

amount of sixty thousand thalers, which sums 
20 * 


234 DOMINIC. 

were all repaid, and the acknowledgment of 
the debt, together with the receipts, given into 
the hands of the late baron and preserved 
among the records of the castle. The baron 
died, and after a while the old steward died 
also. The younger baron passes all his time 
in traveling, and the new steward is sharp 
enough to profit by that circumstance. He 
sells the produce of the farms, the wool, etc., 
and no one knows what else, puts two-thirds 
of the profits into his own pocket and sends 
the baron the other third, who receives the 
money in good faith, without making any in- 
quiries as to what has become of the rest. 
But this is not enough ; so mein Herr Stew- 
ard searches the records, finds the notes and 
the receipts, and very wisely resolves to make 
something out of these. In this little busi- 
ness he needs me, so he visits me. I say, 
‘ Good ; I will help ; but what is to be my 
share of the profits ? ’ ‘ The half,’ says the 


A FOX TRAP. 235 

Herr Steward, and the business is undertaken. 
Now, what is the half of sixty thousand? 
Certainly, thirty thousand; and thirty thou- 
sand will I have, or I go no further ! ” 

'' It is a shameless demand ! ” exclaimed the 
steward, indignantly. 

“ If either of us is shameless, steward, it is 
yourself Think, man! You have plundered 
the baron until he is poor and you are rich. 
Then you buy his property with his own 
money, and take the half of this sixty thou- 
sand thalers besides, which he does not owe ; 
and now you dare to talk to me about being 
shameless! You take three-fourths of the 
gain, leave me one-fourth, and call me shame- 
less ! That will not do, steward ! Give me 
the papers and the sum I have named, and 
I will go on with you. Otherwise, I shall visit 
the baron early to-morrow morning, tell him 
that I have found, on reference to my father’s 
books, that the debt was paid, and further in- 


236 DOMINIC. 

form him what has become of his income for 
some years past. Then your books and pa- 
pers will be examined, and you know best 
what will be the result. In a word, do you 
agree or not ?” 

“You are a leech, Landsberger ! ” said the 
steward, with a pitiful whine. “ But I see I 
shall have to yield to your exactions. Thirty 
thousand be it, and silence for ever as to this 
business ! ” 

“You may rest assured of that; it is for 
my own interest,” answered the usurer, laugh- 
ing. “Done! To-morrow you become a 
rich land-owner; I congratulate you.’ Don’t 
look so ill-humored, man! You are getting 
the handsomest property in the country cheap 
enough. Drink to me, and may we always 
have as good an affair in hand as this one.” 

Their glasses clicked. The counselor up 
stairs rose to his feet. 

“ Come, gentlemen,” he whispered. “ We 


A FOX TRAP. 


237 


have overheard full enough. This has proved 
a most happy scheme. To-morrow we will 
finish our work. And, sir,” he said, turning 
to Dominic and cordially pressing his hand, 
“ the baron himself will thank * you, for his 
deliverance from the toils of these unprinci- 
pled men is your work ! ” 

They quietly left the room, the men in the 
blue-chamber below little suspecting how en- 
tirely their plot had been revealed. 

At the appointed hour on the next morn- 
ing the officials whose duty it was to conduct 
the sale assembled at the inn. None were 
present but Counselor Scheller, the steward, 
Landsberger and Dominic, who remained dis- 
creetly in the background with the landlord. 
No other purchasers had arrived. The auc- 
tion commenced, and with a triumphant smile 
Landsberger offered a bid which, in compari- 
son with the value of the estate, sounded like 
a mockery. 


238 


DOMINIC. 


“ Twenty thousand thalers ! ” said he. 

The bid was accepted. No other followed, 
and Landsberger insisted upon the ratification 
of the bargain. The auctioneer hesitated, 
but at a sign from the counselor he pro- 
ceeded : 

“Twenty thousand thalers; once, twice, 
three times — ” 

“ Stop ! ” said Dominic, composedly, from 
his corner ; “ a hundred thousand thalers 
more ! ” 

The auctioneer looked both surprised and 
pleased, while the faces of the steward and 
Landsberger were fairly livid with rage and ' 
astonishment. 

“ What does this mean ? ” cried the usurer. 
“ Who is this man that offers a hundred thou- 
sand, and has most likely not a farthing in his 
pocket ? His bid amounts to nothing ! Who 
knows him ?” 

“I know him,” replied the counselor as 


A FOX TRAP. 239 

Dominic stepped up to the table and opened 
a portfolio which he had carried with him. 

Here are papers which will, I think, be 
entirely satisfactory,” he said. “ I repeat my 
bid — a hundred thousand more ! ” 

“ Ten thousand ! ” cried Landsberger, ex- 
citedly. “ You shall not have the estate ! ” 

“ Seventy thousand, to make up the two 
hundred thousand,” said Dominic, with a 
quiet smile ; and pale as death, Landsberger 
drew back. Without further interruption, the 
auctioneer proceeded : 

Two hundred thousand thalers ; oncey 
TWICE, THREE TIMES ! Gone ! ” 

“I am the owner of this estate,” said 
Dominic. 

“ Yes, sir, and of all the rights connected 
with it,” replied the auctioneer, with a low 
bow. 

“ Well, then, the first thing is to see that 
justice is done,” continued Dominic, in a 


240 


DOMINIC. 


strong, clear voice, clapping his hands three 
times. 

The door was opened immediately, and four 
officers of justice entered, and looked in- 
quiringly at Dominic. 

The Herr Commissioner will inform 
you,!’ he said to them, “ that I am owner of 
the Brandenstein estate, and accordingly 
patron of the magistracy.” 

The commissioner confirmed his statement. 
“Well,” he added, “since you know that I 
have the right to command, seize the Herr 
Steward before you, also Herr Landsberger, 
and place them in confinement 1 ” 

“ Sir, how can you dare ? ” cried Landsber- 
ger, while the steward stood trembling and 
unable to utter a word. 

“ I take the responsibility,” said Dominic, 
firmly. “We have here two fraudulent 
schemers ; the proofs are in my hands ! ” 
Landsberger resisted with vehement de- 


A FOX TRAP. 241 

nials, but to no purpose. The officers secured 
him, together with the silent and terrified 
steward, without ceremony, and led them 
away to meditate in solitude and disgrace 
upon their wicked and dishonest conduct. 

Two hours later we find our old friend 
Dominic, Counselor Scheller, the auctioneer 
and the good landlord, who had assisted in 
the disclosure of the plot, in the castle with 
Baron Brandenstein. A superficial examina- 
tion of the steward’s accounts sufficed to show 
that the rogue had been for years engaged in 
robbing his master of large sums, which were 
invested for his own profit. These amounts 
were sufficient to relieve the baron from all 
his difficulties and make him once more 
owner of his estate. The missing receipts 
had also been found in the steward’s desk, 
and the imprisonment of the two worthies 

was thus fully justified. 

21 Q 


242 


DOMINIC. 


With deep emotion the baron listened to 
the recital of what had been done to unravel 
the shameful plot. Over and again he pressed 
Dominic’s hand, while his daughter Emma 
wept tears of joy. There were none present 
who did not sympathize with them and re- 
joice in their happiness. 

At last, when the baron had heard all, he 
opened his arms, and embraced Dominic with 
the affection of a father. 

“ Oh, my friend, my deliverer ! ” he ex- 
claimed. How can I find words to express 
the gratitude I shall ever cherish for you? 
You have averted from my head and from 
that of my beloved child poverty, misery and 
disgrace, and have restored to us the comfort 
we thought for ever lost. My child, join me 
in thanking our benefactor ! ” 

“ He knows, he must know, how sincere 
my gratitude is ! ” exclaimed Emma, seizing 
Dominic’s hand. “But may we not learn 


A FOX TRAP. 243 

now who is the dear friend that has saved us 
from distress ? ” 

“ My dear, gracious young lady, do you 
really not recognize me?” replied Dominic, 
with a smile of pleasure and affection. Re- 
member the lake among the mountains ; re- 
member the fisherman’s cottage, near which 
you found a boy, a poor, weeping child, whom 
you comforted and helped with true Christian 
love ; remember all the kindness which both 
you and your father showed to him : that 
boy is before you ! You were kind to him, 
and God has granted to him the power of 
showing his gratitude.” 

“ I thought so ; I suspected it ; I was sure 
of it!” exclaimed Emma, embracing him as 
though he had been a long-lost brother ; and 
then turning to her father : “ It is Dominic, 
father I — Dominic, whom we looked for here, 
in vain, years ago. Yes, I knew it, my friend, 
from the moment when you repeated to me 


244 DOMINIC. 

the verses from the cottage door ! Do you 
hear, father ? — it is Dominic, who thus nobly 
repays the little kindness we showed him long 
ago.- 

The baron’s surprise was great indeed. 

“ Is it possible ? ” he said. You that boy 
who so strongly excited our sympathy ? But 
why did you not come to us as you had 
promised to do ? I wrote home about you 
from Vienna, but was informed that no such 
boy as I described had been here.” 

“ I was here,” replied Dominic ; “ but it was 
the fault of the man whose designs against you 
have just been discovered that I did not re- 
main. I was obliged to leave, little supposing 
that what seemed then so hard would work at 
last for good to us all. But God has directed 
my way, and I thank him for the power of 
serving you this day, the happiest I have ever 
known ! ” 

Of course, Dominic could not think of 


A FOX TRAP. 


245 


leaving the castle that day. On the contrary, 
he was obliged to promise the baron to re- 
main as his guest for at least a week. In the 
evening he complied with the request of his 
friends, that he should relate to them the his- 
tory of his life. They listened with the live- 
liest interest. When he had finished his 
recital, the baron said, thoughtfully, 

“ It is truly wonderful what blessings God 
causes to spring up in rich abundance from 
every good action! I show a trifling kind- 
ness to a poor orphaned boy, and the result 
is that he rises up to be my deliverer in the 
hour of my greatest need. It is the ordering 
of the Lord. He links together the remotest 
circumstances in one golden chain of blessing. 
There is no good deed done for his glory that 
shall fail to bear rich fruit. There are many 
proofs of this truth, my dear Dominic, in the 
account you have given us of your life. For 

myself, I must humbly and thankfully ac- 
21 


246 DOMINIC. 

knowledge that the pretty saying Emma long 
ago copied from over the fisherman’s door 
has been more richly illustrated in our own 
experience than I could even have ventured 
to hope : 

t^ou a 900b beeb^ 

M tlje beep let it 90: 

®lj0U9lj tlje fi0lj mtti) not see, 

||et tlje forb will ^now/ 

Yes, he sees all our humble efforts to serve 
him, and in his wonderful love and mercy he 
rewards them. To him be the glory, the 
thanks and the praise for ever ! ” 

Amen ! ” said Dominic and Emma, as with 
a tender, loving look at each other, these two 
young hearts, reunited after so long a sepa- 
ration, rose in unspeakable gratitude and de- 
votion to the Father of all mercies. 


1855 , 


1870 . 


LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

No. 42 NORTH NINTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 
tT. K. Shryocle, Superintendent, 


E take pleasure in announcing to the 
Church and to the Trade in general, that 
we have commenced the publication of 
the 

c^athcrland Merits, 

as follows: 

'‘THE COTTAGE BYTHE LAKE/^ 

Translated from the German of Martin Claudius, by 
Miss R. H. ScHiVELY. “When the need is sorest God’s 
help is nearest.” 

16mo, Cloth, a Beautiful Frontispiece, 160 pages, $0.75. 

“ This volume Avill supply a want in our Sunday-school 
Libraries, to which the Religious Press has called attention 
— books of a more devotional and evangelical character. 
The Wilmer Family is characteiized by all that makes the 




2 


‘ Schoenberg Cotta Family ’ so univeiially attractive. * * * 
We can confidently recommend this book, translated with 
all elegance of diction, and with all the warmth and pathos 
of the German heart. * * * All classes will be instructed 
and elevated by this kind of literature. It has channs for 
the youthful and the mature, and will profit every one.” — 
Mrs. E. B. S. 


‘‘IN THE MIDST OFTHE NORTH SEA.»* 
From the German of Marie Roskowska, by 
J. F. Smith, Esq. 

16mo, Cloth, Two Engravings, $0.75. 

A story of life upon one of the lonely little islands (or 
Halligen) lying in the North Sea off the German coast. 
The loneliness and the dangers accompanying a residence 
upon these barren, marshy spots, are dramatically described, 
and the characteristics of the two families are painted most 
naturally. The incidents of “ Lost in the Fog,” “ The 
Shipwreck,” and “The Inundation,” are full of interest; 
and the earnest piety that pervades the narrative will recom- 
mend it to any Christian family or Sabbath School. The 
tale is full of excitement, and yet is anything but sensational. 


^^ANTON, THE FISHERMAN.^’ 

By Franz Hoffmann. Translated by Mrs. M. A. 

Manderson. 

16mo, Cloth. Three Fine Original Engravings, $0.85. 

“ A very interesting story of humble life, illusti-ating do- 
mestic happiness, and the prevalence of industry, manliness, 
and integrity — together with the providential deliverances 
that sometimes occur in the midst of the trials that beset 
the believing poor.” — The Lutheran and Missionary^ 
Philadelphia. 


3 


“Anton, the Fisherman.”— “We call the special at- 
tention of the public to this beautiful book, just issued 
by the Lutheran Board of Publication. It is from the 
famous Hoffmann of Dresden, who has won a world-wide 
fame as the writer of popular stories for the young. The 
translation is so natural and graceful, that no one would 
suspect its German origin. The book is in the best style 
of book-making, and has elicited universal admiration. 
Let the Church encourage our publications, with a prompt, 
cheerful, and generous patronage .” — Lutheran Observer. 


“Rene, the Little Savoyard.” 

By Franz Hoffmann. Translated by J. F. Smith, Esq. 
16mo, Cloth, Two Excellent Original Engravings, $0.85. 

“ I have just read with great pleasure, ‘ Rene,* in your 
very attractive Fatherland Series. It is a brilliant little 
story, and is well translated. The children (and their 
parents) will be delighted with these pure and beautiful 
books, which I hope may have the wide circulation they 
deserve.” Yours, C. P. Krauth. 


tc** 

“FRITZ; OR, FILIAL LOVE.’’ 

By Franz Hoffmann. Translated by M. A. Manderson. 
16mo, Cloth, One First Class Original Engraving, $0.65. 

“A charming story, founded upon the life of one of 
Frederick the Great’s generals. The healthy pious tone 
that pervades the book, as well as the literary merit, should 
recommend it to every family and Sunday-school Library. 
We venture to say that no boy will read this pleasant nar- 
rative without wishing to know more of Prussia’s great 
king.’ 


4 


'^GEYER W^LTY; 

OR, FIDELITY REWARDED.” 

By Franz Hoffmann. Translated by M. A. Manderson. 

16mo, Cloth, Seven Superior Original Engravings, 

drawn by D. R. Knight, Esq., and engraved by Van Ingen & Snyder, in 
their very best manner, and printed on the best quality of plate paper. 

We have no fear, in offering this beautiful book to our 
patrons, that they will not be pleased with it, either in a 
literary or artistic point of view. Geyer Walty is a sturdy, 
healthy story, worth reading by young or by old, and will 
bear comparison with the best tales of its class. No pains 
have been spared upon this volume, the translation and en- 
gravings being all original, and of the most expensive 
character. 

The present book is the last of the first set of the Fa- ’ 
THERLAND SERIES. The 6 volumes will be put up in an 
extra neat case, and will be sold at $5.00, including the box. 

Other Volumes are in preparation, and will be pub- 
lished as rapidly as possible. We trust that in future The 
Lutheran Church will feel that the interests of our 
Sunday Schools will not be neglected. 

We call upon the entire Church to aid us in our efforts. 

The Board of Publication have entered upon this under- 
taking by no means unadvisedly. Co-operating with numer- 
ous German scholars well read in this class of literature, 
we have selected a series of works to be published as 
rapidly as circumstances will permit — works that will 
surely commend themselves to all interested in the Sunday 
School and the family. 

The genuine religious sentiment, the touching pathos, the 
heartsomeness, as well as the dramatic interest of these 
stories of Hoffmann, of Horn, and of kindred writers, are 
well known to the German reader; and we trust by our 


5 


translations to make German thought better known to the 
youthful English reader, whom we hope to familiarize with 
scenes and incidents of the Fatherland. 

We ask the kind consideration and countenance of the 
Book Trade generally, but particularly of those engaged 
in the publishing and sale of Sunday-school books. 

We add a few of the many flattering notices we have 
received from our friends.. 

The Fatherland Series. From the German. Phila- 
delphia: Lutheran Board of Publication. — “Under this 
title the Lutheran Board of Publication have begun what 
promises to be an interesting and useful series of Sunday- 
school books. They comprise translations from some of 
the best German writers for the young, carefully selected 
from an evangelical stand-point, with a view to make Ger- 
man thought better known to English youthful readers, and 
to familiarize them with the scenes and incidents of German 
life. The two volumes just issued are entitled, ‘In the 
Midst of the North Sea,’ and ‘Anton, the Fisherman.’ 
Both are interesting, capital books, having a good deal of 
dramatic power, and pervaded by a beautiful Christian 
faith and simplicity. The first named shows the sad evils 
of an envious, jealous spirit; and the last is a testimony 
to the sure word of Scripture, ‘Trust in the Lord and do 
good, so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt 
be fed .’” — The Sunday-school Tunes. 

Lawrence^ Kansas, March i, 1870. 

“Your books lately published, ‘In the Midst of the 
North Sea,’ and ‘Anton, the Fisherman,’ are first rate, and 
with such books your reputation will soon be established. 
I am well pleased with your commendable efforts and 
wccess in getting out good books. 

“Yoiirs, H. B. Belmer.” 


6 


New Middletown, March 2, 1870. 

“ I received ‘ In the Midst of the North Sea,’ sent by 
you a couple of weeks since. Thank you for your kindness 
in sending it. Have read it carefully. Am highly pleased 
with it. Think it a perfect gem for the Sabbath School. 
Besides many other valuable lessons, it clearly exhibits the 
hand of Providence in the preservation of the Islanders. 

“ Yours, J. B. Miller.” 

Bainbridge, Pa., March 7, 1870. 

“ I have read ‘ Anton,’ and am even better pleased with 
it than I was with ‘ In the Midst of the North Sea.* Good, 
better. I am, truly and fraternally, 

“Yours, F. T. Hoover.” 

New Germantown, March 15, 1870. 

“ The publications you send me are admirable every way 
.ind I only wish I could sell many of them for you. 

“Yours, ■ J. C. Buy.” 

Sharpsville, Tipton Co., Ind., March 20, 1870 

“ I hereby acknowledge the receipt of two volumes of 
your Sunday-school Publications, ‘ North Sea,’ and ‘Anton.’ 
I have hastily perused these little narratives, and find them 
very interesting and spicy, and can heartily recommend 
them to the Sabbath School and the public generally, as 
safe companions for both young and old. 

“A. H. Scherer.” 

Harrisburg, March 29, 1870. 

“‘How do I like the series?’ Well, really, I hardly 
know how to express myself; but I have a little four-year- 
old chip of the old block, who, when anything pleases 
him very mu h, says, ‘ Do it again.’ Now, that is just what 


7 


V 


I say to the publisher and the translator : Do it again, and 
you do the Church good. 

“Fraternally yours, Jno. J. Rebman.” 

Croton Landing, March 30, 1870. 

“I am very much pleased with your ‘Fatherland 
Series.’ Yours, truly, W. B. Askam.” 

College Hill, O., March 30, 1870. 

“ Enclosed pleased find 85 cents for Rend, which I read 
with zest, and think it to be a good book for our American 
youth. Yours in X., J. C. Brodfuehrer.” 

Newton, Iowa, April 7, 1870. 

“ Your new books, translations from the German, are 
highly popular. Go on with the good work. We are glad 
to get them as fast as published. 

“Yours in Gospel bonds, H. S. Cook.” 

Smithslurg, Md., April 2, 1870. 

“ The books are beautiful and good. 

“Yours, L. J. Bell.” 

Orangeville, III., April 2, 1870. 

“ I have just received yours of 25th ult., together with 
the book you sent by mail. I have received three — ‘North 
Sea,’ ‘ Anton,’ and ‘ Rene,’ which, by the way, are the 
most excellent Sunday-school books I have ever had the 
pleasure to examine, and I thank God that our Publication 
Society has the honor of bringing them before the public. 

* “ Yours, truly, J. K. Bloom.” 

Bainbridge, Pa., April 2, 1870. 

“ Our school here at B. has ordered a copy of each of 
the Fatherland Series. I have read the opening chapter 
of ‘ Rene.’ Our librarian at Maytown, Mr. C. Peck, says 
it is the best Sunday-school book he has read for a long 
time. Yours, F. T. Hoover.” 


8 


Yorky Fa., April 1870. 

“Please send me ‘Cottage by the Lake.’ The othe' 
volumes of the Fatherland Series I have. I am much 
pleased with the books. If you publish a thousand volumes, 
send them all to me, and draw on me for the amount they 
cost. J. H. Menges.” 

Lockporty April 9, 1870. 

“Since I have three of the Series you are publishing at 
present, I would desire to have the first number — ‘The 
Cottage by the Lake.’ This number you have not sent me. 
Those you sent me I read with great interest, and am much 
pleased with them, and trust they may be largely circulated. 

“ Yours, truly, M. Ort.” 

Canton, O., April 4, 1870. 

“ Enclosed find the amount of your bill for the ‘ Father- 
land Series.* The books are very interesting, and my 
children are delighted with them. 

“Yours, L. M. Kuhns.” 

Harrisburg, April 7, 1870. 

“Your book entitled ‘Fritz,’ is all right. Go ahead; 
the more of that kind you publish the better. 

“Yours, fraternally, G. F. Steeling.” 

Selinsgrove, April 6, 1870. 

“ I am glad to see you bringing out such nice, neat books. 
You can send us one copy of all new publications until 
othei*wise ordered. Consider us standing subscribers. 

“Yours, J. G. L. Shindel.” 

Frostburg, Aid., Aprils, 1870. 

“‘The Fatherland Series’ I am pleased with. They 
compare favorably with any of the publications of the day 
— .are a credit to the Society. 

“ Yours, 


H. Bishop.” 


9 


Loysville, April 8, 1870. 

“I received ‘In the Midst of the North Sea,’ and 
* Anton, the Fisherman,’ and am pleased with them. 

“ Yours, etc. P. Willard.’ 

New Germantown^ April 5, 1870. 

“The Fatherland Series are very beautiful specimens of 
book-making, and their contents are very interesting. My 
family are delighted with them. 

“Yours, truly, J. C. Duy.” 

Albany, N. Y., April 5, 1870. 

“The last issue of the ‘ Fatherland Series’ received. I 
am much pleased with all these books. You are now 
taking the right course to supply our Church with a Sun- 
day-school literature. You may send me one of each issue, 
as you have been doing, and let me know if I can assist 
you in any other way. 

“Yours, S. P. Sprecher.” 

New York, 196 2d Avenue, April 6 , 1870. 

“ I am delighted with the Series. 

“ Yours, truly, A. C. Wedekind.” 

Litchfield, III., April 4, 1870, 

“I have received three books, ‘Anton,’ ‘ North Sea,’ and 
‘ Rene.’ I am well pleased with them. 

“Yours, etc. B. F. Crouse.” 

Chambersburg, April 4, 1870. 

“I have received ‘Rene,’ and it is a very interesting 
book. Yours, fraternally, C. Lepley.” 

Red Hook, N. Y., April 4, 1870. 

“ ‘ Rene ’ came to hand on Friday last. Am delighted 
with it — feel quite proud of our Publication House. 

“Yours, truly, W. H. Luchenbach.” 


14 


Sharon Centre, O., April 29, 1870. 

“ I received two small volumes from your establishment. 
They are very tasty and carefully gotten up, and the stories 
are quite interesting, not only to children, but even to older 
persons. 

“ Resp’y yours, J. Schauer.” 

THE COTTAGE BY THE LAKE.— ANTON, THE 
FISHERMAN.— RENE, THE LITTLE 
SAVOYARD. 

(From the Lutheran Publication Society, No. 42 North 
Ninth Street, Philadelphia.) 

These volumes, beautiful and attractive in appearance, 
belong to the f'atherland Series, of which we have already 
announced : “ In the Midst of the North Sea,” and “ Fritz, 
or Filial Love.” 

^^The Cottage'^ is charming. Evangelical devotion and 
faith, which worketh by love, form a complete picture, life- 
like, and well deserving to be copied, not only by the cot- 
tager, but also by those inhabiting mansions. 

**Anton.” Now this is the very book for both young 
and old. We see verified the blessed words; “Trust in 
the Lord and do good : so shalt thou dwell in the land, 
and verily thou shalt be fed.” 

^^RenSP All the little Savoyards we ever saw had dirty 
faces; but we have read some charming stories about them, 
and this is equal to any and all previous ones. 

No Sabbath-school library should be without this Series. 
The Sunday-school Times says they “ are interesting and 
capital books — pervaded by a beautiful Christian faith and 
simplicity.” Rev. Dr. Krauth and Mrs. E. B. S. speak in 
the highest terms of them; and for a wonder — the Lu- 
theran and Missionary and the Lutheran Observer see eye 
to eye, and unite in praising the same work — Lutheran 
Visitor, Columbia, S. C. 




































